


A Tiger in the Mews

by fabricdragon



Series: Shapeshifter and Werecreature shuffle [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Conditioning, Developing Relationship, Falconry, First Meetings, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, eagle - Freeform, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:40:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Shapeshifters are rare and valuable, and Sebastian Moran was one of her Majesties best... until he was captured... until he was about to be executed... until he was purchased by Jim Moriarty.





	1. Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts), [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts).



Sebastian Moran woke up from a beautiful dream–he’d been sighting down his rifle and then, in the way dreams change, he’d been flying over hills–back in the dark cell he’d spent far too many days in. He’d lost all track of time, but it was still brutally hot in the daytime and brutally cold at night and his arm still hurt too badly to use, so it probably hadn’t been that long.

The guard with the scarred face and missing eye–he’d done that with his talons when they captured him–had beaten him extra soundly yesterday, so he mostly lay still and watched the little patch of sky between the bars.

His captors decided to throw in some food today: he ate it. It was drugged to keep him from shifting, of course, not that it would matter: he was a large bird, and the bars on his cell too close together to let him slip between them, and a bird was a poor choice to break down a door–he’d have better odds in his human form. They never took any chances with him in human form, sadly. Even when they beat him they never took him out of the chains, and they made sure they outnumbered him.

He’d heard enough to know that they weren’t even trying to trade him for anyone anymore–which meant they would eventually have him beheaded for propaganda. He was conserving his strength for that–it might be a chance to escape, but at the very least he wanted to take some of them down with him.

Three days later, after the worst beating yet, they dragged him out in chains to be beheaded with three other prisoners…

He managed to hurt one of the bastards; even with his legs shackled and his arms cuffed behind him, he could at least die knowing that. They finished kicking him and dragged him into the bloody dirt. They were forcing him into position when he heard a voice say, “Stop. I want that one.”

He couldn’t look up, but an argument started: his captors snarling about him–what he’d done, what the English had done, something about Maiwand–and the new man simply reiterating that he wanted him.

“But what FOR?!” he finally heard the senior jailor/interrogator ask. “He’s dangerous, he has given us nothing, and his information is useless by now.”

“All the more reason that I want him.” The man’s voice was amused. “Now, do I get what I want? Or…?”

“Clean him, restrain him for transportation, and give him another dose,” his captor spat–literally.

Sebastian was dragged away. It was a blessing to be clean again, although he wasn’t happy about being shaved; still, it dealt with the lice. He had a hood put over his head and he was jabbed with a needle.

He dreamed of explosions and fire…


	2. Hooded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian wakes up someplace far nicer, but more confusing.

Sebastian woke up in an entirely different cell: it was clean, and white, and stainless steel, and looked entirely too secure. He was lying on a cot, at least, not the floor, and it didn’t smell, but then again he hadn’t been here very long. He tried to sit up and found that he was restrained to the bed, and had an IV in his arm.

He suddenly realized he didn’t hurt–no, that wasn’t quite true: he didn’t CARE that he hurt. He lay quietly and tried to look around as much as he could. He had less chance of escaping this cell than his old one: this one didn’t even have a window.

 _My arm?_ He frowned at his arm: it was bandaged and in a sling on his chest; his previous captors had just left it–they didn’t care if it was infected, or about the damage–why was it being treated? He tried to think about it but the drugs muddled his thoughts…

Eventually the door opened and a man came in. He was impeccably dressed: the clothes were clearly tailored to him, unless he had the luck to fit an off the rack suit that well. _No, that was too well done to be an off the rack suit…_

Sebastian’s musings were cut off when he realized the man was standing quietly next to his bed.

“Those drugs do interesting things: I wonder what you were seeing…” The man’s voice was musical, lilting…

“…custom…” Sebastian’s throat was dry and his words rasped.

The man held a cup with a straw up to him. His expression never wavered: he looked curious, as if he was looking at some interesting creature on the ground and trying to figure out what to do with it. Sebastian was reminded of just how helplessly pinned down he was.

After he had few sips of water, the man took the cup away. “You were saying?” One eyebrow arched over deep set eyes–dark, and hard to read.

“You… the suit… it’s custom.” He once again tried to sit up and failed. The man touched a button and the head of the bed raised a bit more. “Tailored, at least…”

A close mouthed smile flickered across the man’s face–Sebastian was reminded of a snake–“Sharp eyes, although I’d expect that from an eagle… or a sniper.”

Sebastian desperately tried to drag his mind up to speed. “My arm…”

“My surgeon tells me you were lucky: you should recover full use of it.” The man ran a finger down Sebastian’s bandaged arm–he couldn’t actually feel it, but he desperately wanted to pull away.

“Assuming you behave yourself and do the therapy? You should be able to fly again.” He smiled again; this time it reminded Sebastian more of a shark. “So I assume you are going to be a very, very good patient… aren’t you?”

Sebastian froze, staring at those eyes. _Predator!_ was screaming in the back of his mind. He found himself struggling in his restraints.

The man’s smile got just a bit wider and he moved to pick something up from out of Sebastian’s sight. “Still a bit wild, I suppose…” and suddenly Sebastian couldn’t see.

 _Hood._ Sebastian told himself it’s just a hood. His captors had put a hood over his head so many times he’d lost count, but this was different: it was a snugger fitting thing, not a bag, and it didn’t cover his nose or mouth…

“I’ll have you trained to the glove in no time.” The lilting voice was soothing in the dark.

 _What?_ Sebastian was lying still, trying not to panic. He knew what came next: beatings, torture, interrogation…

“Doctor…” the man’s voice…

Sebastian lost the rest of it as he tried to rip himself loose from the bed, tried to fight. “Doctor” meant pain, meant questioning… meant anything but healing. He was screaming, trying to kill them, trying to escape…

Someone was holding him down and he fell into a drugged sleep.

When he woke up again, it took him a while to reorient himself: same room; he ached, though. It took him a long time to get the nerve to look down at himself: he nearly sobbed when he saw his arm still in a sling.

“Whatever has gotten into you?” came the lilting voice. Sebastian snapped his head up and the world tilted.

He was given more sips of something–electrolyte, he finally identified–by the man holding a cup with a straw to his lips again.

“What… what do you want…?” Sebastian had told himself not to talk to him again, but he couldn’t manage.

“First tell me what was so upsetting before? And why you were staring at your arm like that?”

“I thought it was gone…”

The man paused, then pulled a chair over and sat down, crossing one leg over the other, revealing a pair of very nice–and probably custom–shoes. “I told you the surgeon said you would recover… if you work on your physical therapy.”

“You… you blindfolded me and… called someone in…”

He blinked slowly, eyelids closing over deep set eyes. Sebastian wondered if he was a lizard, suddenly. “I hooded you…” He tilted his head and smiled that shark smile. “Ah… they hooded you before they hurt you?”

“…yes.”

“That explains a lot…” he mused. “No, I just don’t want you to see the doctor, and for that matter I don’t want them to see more of you than they need to. He was just checking your recovery.”

“Oh… What do you want?”

“You,” he said in a friendly tone, but his eyes were possessive as he looked him over.

“The… the military doesn’t do ransoms… but my family…”

He just shook his head, “Oh, I’m not interested in handing you BACK–that would defeat the point don’t you think? Anyway, Tiger, let’s see if you can hold down some solid food, shall we?”

He was going to say something about the nickname but the concept of food suddenly made him hungry. “Unlock my other arm?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh, no. You get food from my hand or not at all.” That shark’s smile flashed across his face again.

He walked out and came back with a tray, which he set down out of reach–not that he could reach anything much–and dipped a spoon into something. “You have to start with soft foods, I’m afraid,” he said as he held a spoon to Sebastian’s lips just like he’d held the straw to his lips.

Sebastian despised being fed like an infant, but the strange man clearly wasn’t going to unlock his good arm, and his other arm was strapped in the sling across his chest. The food was bland, but not bad.

Once he’d finished serving Sebastian a bowl full of the stuff, one spoonful at a time, he said, “Physical therapy and exam in about an hour, Tiger… and you’ll be hooded for at least part of it,” and walked out.

After what he presumed to be an hour later the man came back: he was dressed more casually, but still carried himself with assurance. “Now… I’m going to hood you again, and then the therapist will come in and start working on your arm… it will probably hurt a bit…”

“Can’t you just… not blindfold me?”

“No,” he said pleasantly, “but I’ll be here.” He got out the hood–this time Sebastian saw it before it was slipped over his head. It was leather and shaped and conformed to the curves of a face well enough that it was no wonder he couldn’t see anything once it was in place. The world went dark as the man put it on and tugged it into place.

Sebastian started to panic, but a cool hand slid from the hood to his cheek. “I’m right here, Tiger. Physical therapy hurts, I’m afraid, but it’s necessary. Just tell me if any of the pain is sharp pain… or too much.”

Sebastian was sure there were at least two other people in the room, but they never spoke and he couldn’t see. He tried talking to them, but the only one who answered was the man with the dark eyes.  He touched Sebastian a lot, kept a hand on his neck, or his cheek. Eventually they stopped what they were doing, leaving Sebastian panting and in pain, and he was grateful that the hood hid his tears.

“There now…” the man’s voice was cool and soothing, “I’m just going to slip this…” he was nudged to sit further forward and he felt something slide behind him. “There.” The man fastened it around his waist.

 _Restraint belt?_ He felt the man locking his good arm to the belt, and unfastening it from the bed rail. His legs were… _walking chain?_

“Now then, be a good tiger and we’ll get you up and walking a bit.”

He tensed as the man lowered the bed rail and swung Sebastian’s legs to the side. No, he was in no condition to escape right now, and they did seem to be treating his arm. He cursed quietly under his breath and let the man guide him up to his feet.

He was walked carefully down what sounded like a hallway, and back.

“I need a toilet.”

“Of course…” The man guided him around and… _yes, the echoing sound of a bathroom._ He was guided onto a toilet–it was taller than most. The man kept a hand on his shoulder the entire time. It was equal parts infuriating and reassuring.

“I think it would be best if I cleaned you up as long as we’re in here,” the man said calmly.

“Shower?” Sebastian asked, hoping…

“No, I need to keep the stitches dry.”

_Oh, of course._

“Hmmm… sit still.” The hand left his shoulder and Sebastian tried to figure out what he was doing from the sound: it involved metal, and chains–which was in no way reassuring.

The man must have seen how tense he was because he spoke as he came back, mostly soothing noises, and got his hand back on Sebastian’s shoulder, guiding him into what HAD to be a shower.

“I thought you said…?”

“I put a shower chair in. Careful, it’s a bit lower than the toilet.” He was guided to sit on a plastic seat, and then chains were attached to his belt–he heard a lock click.

“I’m taking your hood off,” the man said and indeed a few tugs and pulls later the hood was gone and Sebastian looked around desperately: it was a very large and luxurious bathroom, definitely not a hospital–well, none he’d ever seen.

His belt restraint was attached to a grab bar in the shower.

The man carefully got a washcloth, and… _soap_. Sebastian had never been so grateful for soap in his life.

“Easy now, Tiger, don’t you want to be clean?”

Sebastian didn’t answer, just lowered his head and let the man wash him. He started at the top of his head and rubbed little soapy circles on his scalp, and then down to his neck, and then he got a different wash cloth and rinsed him off. By the time he worked down to Sebastian’s shoulders, Sebastian was entirely pleased with the situation…

It was wonderful.

And whoever the scary little fuck was he had good hands, and was gentle, rubbing down his back, wringing and refreshing both cloths, then his chest, then carefully cleaning his good arm.

“I’m going to do your legs while you’re seated, and then we’ll handle the rest and just rinse your legs down again.”

Sebastian was unhappily tense when the man took a soapy cloth to his groin, but while he certainly washed the area thoroughly he did so in a professional manner that didn’t seem at all lewd, even when it seemed like it should. Sebastian didn’t relax until he started down his thighs, however.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Tiger,” the man said as he worked past his knees.

“It’s… a pretty vulnerable position.”

“I’ll have to do your backside when you get up, you know,” the man said as he rotated each ankle and made washing his feet seem positively sybaritic.

Sebastian tried to make it clear that he would wash his own backside if he would just unlock something, but he ignored him.

Eventually he had to stand up, and the chair was moved back and… yes, the man moved behind him and started soaping him just below the belt–moving down. Sebastian bit his lip and stared at the shower controls until he was done.

He uncoiled a shower head hose and rinsed him off, careful to keep the spray below the level of the arm, and then washed the chair. “You can sit back down. I need to get a towel for you.”

He walked away and Sebastian sat down. He was shaking and he would have liked to have pretended it was all from exhaustion.

The man came back in with a different hood–it was a subtly different color–and Sebastian tried to retreat but there was nowhere to go.

“Easy, it’s just to go back to the bed, Sebastian… I haven’t hurt you, have I?”

“…no.”

His head was dried carefully and the hood pulled back on, and then the man dried him all over. The towel was warm, and he took great care; it felt… _comforting._ A pair of some kind of slipper shoes were pulled on to his feet and he was unlocked and led back around and down hallways, and then into a bed.

The man locked him back to the bed. “Food was delivered while we were out,” he said, and Sebastian heard the clink of plates. A bit of something was held to his lips– _chicken? No…_ –then as he chewed it he realized it was rabbit.

“I did think you might like rabbit, since Golden Eagles eat them rather preferentially,” the man said, confirming his guess about the meat.

“I… don’t know. I never had it as a human… it’s… not bad.” Sebastian hesitated, “I could feed myself if you just–”

The man made a disapproving tsking noise. “You eat from my hand, Tiger.”

At the end, the man held spoonsful of some kind of berry crumble while he ate that.

“This is the bell to call the nurse,” the man said quietly, putting a call button into his hand and then down beside him. “I’m going to give you your evening pain medication and a sleeping pill.”

“What about the blindfold?!”

“You’ll sleep better without the light bothering you: I’ll remove it in the morning.”

And no amount of arguing changed his mind one bit.


	3. Paradise, a walled garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude in the garden...  
> and Orchids (because Mickie, Only_1_Truth , and I all love orchids)

Sebastian slept fitfully. A nurse came in–well, someone came in–and touched him gently on the shoulder before doing something with… maybe a monitor? He tried asking them questions but they didn’t answer. The first voice he heard was his captor:

“Good morning,” his voice came moments after the door opened. “Did you sleep well?”

“No. Why is everyone ordered not to talk to me?” He kept turning his head as though he would find some gap in the hood, but he never did–as far as he could tell it was pitch dark.

“You don’t need to worry about anyone but me for now,” the man said and rested a hand on Sebastian’s cheek. “I’m taking your hood off…” and he could see again.

The man fed him breakfast and spoke occasionally about therapy and recovery times. “–and then you’ll need to change, of course.”

“Wait… what?” Sebastian’s mind had been drifting–sometimes to escape and sometimes to a vague, distracted nothing– _but did he say something about shifting?_

His captor pursed his lips, “I said that in three or four days, if you cooperate with physical therapy, I’m going to have you shift.”

“Can I–”

“The research on rehabilitation in shifters after a serious injury says that shifting immediately is a bad idea,” he said, and then added, “but neither do you want it to wait until too late. There are cases of patients developing an inability to shift if it’s delayed too long, but shifting too soon can inhibit healing,” he looked at him firmly, “especially given a BIRD flapping an injured wing?”

“Oh… yes, I suppose… that makes sense…” Sebastian forced himself to stay calm–he was going to let him shift, just a few days…

The man put his hand on Sebastian’s cheek and stroked down to his neck, as he tended to; Sebastian was getting used to it. “it’s also important to let all the drugs leave your system. You were half starved, and they were drugging you pretty heavily with some appallingly primitive drugs.”

“They worked, unfortunately.”

He shrugged, “People have been shifters for millennia; every culture in the world has some kind of charm against shifting–most of which work somewhat or they wouldn’t have been passed down. In your case, it was a combination of actual anti-shifting drugs and… well, just plain drugs. You’re coming off of those as well.”

“Is… wait…” Sebastian forced himself to think. “You took the IV out…”

“Yes.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to drug me if–”

“I’m not drugging you, Sebastian.”

“…What?”

“You’re recovering from being drugged, heavily. You were on some drugs for surgery, and some drugs to help you through withdrawal, and hydration… but now that you can drink on your own…”

“I… I can shift…?” Sebastian almost whispered.

“Well… probably not yet, and in any case you SHOULDN’T yet,” he said very firmly indeed. “Even assuming you managed to shift right now, your balance isn’t recovered and one wing doesn’t work…”

Sebastian suddenly realized JUST how helpless he’d be as a bird and shuddered.

“Drink some more and we’ll get you up and walking again.”

Sadly, “up and walking” apparently involved being hooded again; Sebastian tried to argue it but the man flatly refused to let him up without a hood.

 _I’ll be able to shift… he said he’ll let me shift…_ Sebastian was very quiet as the man walked him through hallways and back to his room. The day went much as it had before: he was hooded to leave the room, or to deal with other people, and the man fed him his meals; he was given more freedom with his good arm and was left with his own water at least. He was hooded for the night.

It was the next day when the man came in to remove his hood for breakfast that Sebastian finally asked, “What… what do I call you?”

The man flashed a smile that didn’t look nearly as shark like or dangerous as usual, “James–Jim, if you prefer–or boss, or sir, or any of the usual.” He kept feeding him breakfast but he paused to run a finger across Sebastian’s cheek.

“Why… why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“I was waiting for you to ask.”

“Asking things like that got you hurt…” Sebastian remembered his captors being furious if he asked questions.

“I rather expect they would, but eventually you would realize I’m not hurting you, and ask.” The man–James–petted down his neck and his good shoulder.

Sebastian collapsed back into his thoughts and memories. It took a while before he came back and… the man was still there, sitting in the chair, reading his phone.

Sebastian didn’t want to call him sir, but… he braced for being punished. “…James?”

“Hmmm? Yes?” the man didn’t even look up.

Relief hit Sebastian so hard he was fighting back tears. “I… could use the bathroom again.”

James looked up and didn’t say anything other than to nod. “I’ll get your hood on.”

Sebastian was hooded and then much to his shock his hand was just uncuffed–no restraint belt. When James carefully maneuvered him into sitting up, he slowly brought his hand up to his hood.

“Tsssk,” James made that disapproving noise. “Don’t make me cuff you again, Sebastian.”

He dropped his hand hurriedly, “No, of course not, sir…” and he winced because he didn’t want to call him sir, but a lifetime of military habits…

He was taken back to the same bathroom and unhooded, but he could use his hand–even if the man, James, stayed and kept a hand on him; well…he was a bit unsteady…

“I have a bit of a treat for you, back in your room, so we have to stay out while it’s delivered,” James said with a sly smile. “So let me get your hood back on and we’ll go sit somewhere, alright?”

He was given a pair of hospital wrap style pajama pants this time in addition to slippers, before he was hooded; it was an immense relief to have clothing, or at least concealment. James looped his arm through his better arm and they walked in what could have been a companiable way… it was odd.

Then Sebastian smelled… greenery? And heard water… James guided him onto what felt like a park bench and took off his hood.

“Easy, now, Sebastian… Sit quietly for a minute…”

He blinked at the removal of the hood and was stunned. He was in something like a greenhouse, full of plants; there was a WALL of trailing greenery and flowers in front of him, and a fountain; it was glass overhead and extra lights; and it was beautiful.

He tried to get up and James supported him and steadied him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful… It’s so GREEN…” he hadn’t realized how much he missed the lush greenery, and greenhouses, of home. “I’ve been away from home for so long…”

“I never had much luck with the more formal English style garden,” James admitted, “but the cottage garden, with all those lovely poisonous plants? Far more my style.” He looked around with a smile, “But I do have a fondness for orchids.”

Sebastian blinked suddenly and the flowers in the greenery suddenly resolved themselves. “I hadn’t realized they WERE orchids–they don’t look…”

“Ah, no… I don’t go in for the corsage orchids,” he laughed. “Feel up to walking around a bit more?”

“Please…”

James walked him slowly around the room. It was full of ferns, and something like ivy, and mosses… and pots of orchids tucked in between them. There were fountains and, while they were sitting back on the bench, a misting system kicked in and misted the wall of plants…

James looked at him after a while, “If I take off your walking chain will you behave?”

“…yes,” Sebastian admitted finally. He couldn’t run in any case.

James bent down and unlocked the cuffs. “One more slow walk around the greenhouse and then we go back to your room… but since you like it so much I can bring you back tomorrow.”

“Thank you…” They walked slowly around again, his balance improved immensely by being able to take his longer strides.

James had Sebastian sit down to be hooded, and it was only then that Sebastian realized how much taller he was than the man–somehow James filled a room.

“Come on then Tiger, I have a treat waiting,” he paused, “although I may have tired you out a bit much to use it.”

“Lunch?”

“That, too.”

“May I ask a question… sir?” he asked as they walked back down hallways and around corners to the room.

“You can ask… no guarantees I’ll answer.”

“Why do you call me tiger?”

“Well… first of all, it’s rather traditional for big, aggressive men. The second reason is that you have stripes, although I expect most of them will fade.”

“Stripes?”

They walked into the room, but the sound of it seemed off. He stopped and cocked his head, trying to figure it out.

“Yes, I had a bit of redecorating done. Up on your bed and rest–I’ll get your lunch.”

Sebastian’s hand crept up toward his hood but James returned too quickly; from the sound he never left the room.

“Taking the hood off…” and there he was with a tray of food–it looked pretty good, although honestly all the food had been. He was suddenly distracted away from food when he saw what had changed…

“Yes, Tiger… I got you a stationary bike. That way you don’t have to worry about your balance but you can still get some exercise in.” James smiled and put his hand on Sebastian’s cheek and down his neck. “And the rest of the gear for when you are a bit steadier, but the physical therapists will have you working on the arm machine in no time. You can certainly do some with your good arm.”

“Why… why are you… I don’t understand.”

James just blinked at him, looking as innocent as a kitten, “Why, you’re mine, Tiger… I always take good care of what’s mine.” A slow smile stole across his face, “and you… you are going to be such a treasure once you are up and around…”

Sebastian really wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Stripes… you said you called me Tiger because of stripes?”

James drew a finger down his chest: across one of the places they’d hit him with a stick or a cane or something. “Stripes. You have far more on your back; although you have some on your front… your legs are covered with them. My doctors say most of those will fade but still, when I got you, you had stripes.”

“I’m an eagle changer, not a Tiger…” Sebastian pointed out.

“And if everyone hears me call you Tiger? Will they be prepared to keep a Golden Eagle contained? Oh no, Sebastian, never give an enemy all the information…” James smiled darkly and viciously and an odd thrill ran through him.

“Well… THEY knew,” Sebastian pointed out after he got his voice back, “and obviously the military knew.”

“Oh, they’re dead.”

“What?”

“I called in the base location for an airstrike as soon as we got out of there.” James said it casually. “I didn’t want anyone knowing where you went, and as you said they knew too much.”

“They’re dead..?” Sebastian was trying to believe it.

“Oh, yes. And the reports indicate the strike killed most of them. If any escaped it would have been very few.”

“…Thank you.” he said, although it seemed insufficient.

James ran a hand across his cheek and down his neck to his chest. “As to the military? Well… the video of you being dragged out to be killed? It was released. It was a poor video, lots of jumps and skips, but at the end the right number of bodies was lying on the ground…” He smiled. “They didn’t want to admit they sold you, after all. So the video of your death was released before the airstrike.

“You’re all mine, Tiger…”


	4. resting on the glove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anxiety, angst, past history (CW for discussion of past trauma) and... A glimmering of true affection

His captor–James–stayed with him for a while; he seemed to be doing some kind of work on a computer pad. When Sebastian edged toward getting off the bed, he didn’t even look up, just said, “You should ask.”

“May I get up… sir?”

“Certainly. You can use any of the exercise equipment but don’t touch the door.”

“What happens if I touch the door?”

“Well, most importantly I’d be upset and have to hood and restrain you again, but a secondary problem is that I would have to call in the medics to get your heart settled: it’s rather heavily electrified.” He simply spoke calmly without apparently even pausing in his… emailing or whatever.

Sebastian edged over from the exercise bike to the door. “Bullshit.”

James looked up with a curious look–not alarmed at all. “Why would you say that?”

“No one pauses that long going out, and the keycard reader near the door is close enough to get people electroshocked by accident.”

His captor smiled, “You happen to be incorrect in your conclusions, but your observations are very good.” He cocked his head, “Seriously, though, don’t touch the door.”

Sebastian snorted and put his hand flat on the door. “See? Nothing!” He had time to see the man’s expression shift from amused to wincing just before a shock raced through his body, causing all of his muscles to pull and seize before he dropped to the floor.

~

Jim got up with a sigh and re-attached the sniper’s wrist to his restraint belt. He was mostly lying there looking stunned and didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing, so he walked back and got his hood.

“I did warn you,” Jim said pulling his hood on. No surprise that he started to struggle this time: he’d just been hurt.

“I’m calling a doctor,” Jim put on his soothing voice and kept in contact with him on the floor as he sent the response code. The doctor was there in short order with a few orderlies: the doc had that look that he’d had the entire time, sort of a cross between fury and fear.

“He touched the door,” Jim said with a shrug.

The doctor opened his mouth and Jim glared at him–he shut up fast. Jim kept talking to Sebastian as the orderlies got him back on the bed and the doctor hooked up the heart monitor and bandaged his hand.

Sebastian mostly held very still and tense… of course they would have used electroshock.

“You’re safe, I’m here,” Jim murmured quietly and kept a hand on Sebastian’s cheek or shoulder as the doctor worked. One of the orderlies stared at him in disbelief–understandable, if a bit tacky–but one of them was snickering. Jim glanced at the disbelieving orderly and jerked his head at the other one and mouthed “out”. The doctor at least had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and his head down.

Once they were done, he transferred the cuff to the bed rail again. “I have to go out for a bit, do you want me to take the hood off?”

“P-please.” He spoke very quietly, trying not to let the stress show. Jim took the hood off and watched as panicked blue eyes settled on him, and his breathing slowed slightly.

“I did warn you, Tiger. I admit I hadn’t thought you would test it.” Well, of course he did, but…

“S-sorry, Sir…” His breathing was still a bit ragged. Jim got him a cup of electrolyte and helped him sip until he was a bit calmer.

“Hell of a kick,” Sebastian said after he drank.

Jim smiled and teased him slightly, “Nah, I doubt there’s any alcohol in it.”

Sebastian searched his face and seemed reassured by the humor, “Right… It’s before five… I guess.”

“Well, they do say its five o’clock somewhere,” Jim mused. “If you decide to start behaving again, and the doctor permits it, I could bring you something–what do you drink?”

“Almost anything, honestly.” Sebastian was leaning into Jim’s hand on his cheek, probably without thinking. “But after some of the ‘home distilling’ we had in the field, I think my standards are pretty low.”

Jim stroked down the man’s cheek to his shoulder, and then down his shoulder to rest his hand over Sebastian’s heart–picturing feathers and talons backing up those intense eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can… but you won’t be able to call anyone if I leave you unhooded…”

“I won’t… I’d rather… please…” Sebastian was shaking his head and retreating into the pillows, but he kept his eyes on Jim.

“Shhhh… it’s alright, I’ll be back soon.” And Jim left the room. He reactivated the electroshock system, although he doubted Sebastian would try it again even if he got his wrist free. He walked down to his office and called in the medical team and the orderlies.

“Gentlemen,” he nodded politely at the one female nurse in the room–she nodded back. “Do we have to have another discussion about TALKING TO MY PRISONER?” He switched from calm to screaming, knowing the effect it had, watching half of them recoil backwards.

There was a flurry of apologies and “No, of course not, Sir!”

“Good.” He smiled his least friendly smile at them, all edges.

“Now, you two…” he pointed at the two orderlies. “YOU apparently couldn’t keep a straight face?” he said waving at the one who had looked so disbelieving.

“Sorry, sir,” the man’s voice shook and he lowered his head. “I just was boggled at the idea that YOU were SAFE for someone.”

Jim considered that. “Fair. Don’t let it interfere with your work, though.” He looked at the other man, “What was so funny?”

Emboldened by his compatriot’s acceptance he politely said, “Pretty much the same, sir.”

Jim put on his amused smile, “Nothing else? That seemed like a lot of snickering and you kept looking at the patient…”

“Well, it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Seeing that guy shaking like a leaf because of a blindfold…”

Jim nodded, “Rose, darling?”

The nurse smiled pleasantly, “Yes, sir?”

He nodded at the man. She stepped forward and he looked startled… and then dropped slowly–blood spreading across his back as he lay gasping on the floor.

“Thank you, do clean that up.” He looked back at the rest of them, several of them staring at Rose in shock. “Do you have any idea,” Jim spoke very quietly–and the sensible ones knew how very dangerous that was–“how badly it would set back my plans if he heard anyone laughing at him? Dismissed, now–except you–” he pointed to two of his long term employees, “help Rose get rid of the body.”

He walked off to cool down before going back to Sebastian.

 _He wasn’t laughing at you,_ Jim reminded himself. _No one knows_. He walked into the greenhouse and took several deep breaths. The inability to see, to anticipate what was coming next… it had been one of the worst tortures he’d endured under Mycroft. He hadn’t expected that, but it almost broke him–he should have remembered from before. Pain? He could handle pain.

Helplessness? Jim shuddered again. If the Iceman had had the wits to offer a kind hand… _Well, I would have bitten it first, but still_ … it would have been bad and that even when he knew that Holmes was responsible for it all.

EVERYTHING with Sebastian depended on the fact that Jim had never hurt him–Jim had saved him.

Jim turned and went back to Sebastian’s room, reviewing and comparing his studies on falconry and his studies on conditioning and brainwashing. He’d been surprised to find that there were such notable overlaps… but with falconry you could never hit them, never hurt them… the discipline had to be soft, if firm. Rewards, always… and dependence.

Only modified slightly for the fact that this Eagle was a human at the moment.

He let himself back into the room, making sure he made noise. Sebastian was already staring at the door when he came in.

“Do you think you can eat something?” Jim asked him.

Sebastian nodded gratefully, “Yes, sir. Please.” His eyes darted around the room but kept coming back to rest on Jim. Jim brought him food and fed him, careful to keep his movements slow and steady. He would stop at times to stroke the man by way of reassurance. Sebastian’s hand occasionally jerked up to the limits of his cuff and Jim ignored it.

Internally he was a step away from screaming.

He hadn’t expected this to give him flashbacks. He hadn’t expected that feeding the man would bring him back to days on end in Mycroft’s cells–certainly no one had gently fed him gourmet meals by hand then… so why did this drag it all back?

He hadn’t had any difficulty seeing the terrorists cells, seeing them dragging prisoners around with bags over their heads and tattered clothes, bodies raw and beaten and half starved… but seeing this man who survived that reduced to shivering desperation… taking food from a fork or fingers he held to his lips and beginning to look to him for comfort, for safety…

He was not only fighting the drag of his own time in Mycroft’s cells–and before that in other even less pleasant places–but he was beginning to… care.

He’d started out simply intending to break him to his use–tame him to his glove, as he’d said. But he was such a wild creature with such brilliant and intent eyes–even Sherlock hadn’t had such eyes, although he came close. Sherlock’s eyes were only so intent at murders, at crime scenes, and in flashes; Sebastian looked at everything with the laser-like intensity of an eagle.

Jim had found himself wanting not to break him, but to win him. He wanted this man to need him like air… and he was increasingly determined that he would be better… be fiercer… be more… who he was.

“Sir?” Sebastian’s voice brought him back and he picked up another forkful of food for him.

“Yes, Tiger?”

“You… were staring at me oddly…”

Jim stroked his face and held his hand to his cheek, feeling the pressure as Sebastian leaned into it. “I was remembering things. Believe it or not, I wasn’t always as rich and powerful as I am now.”

“Hard to believe.”

“And I was thinking about when I first saw you… you look much better now.”

“I look like a plucked chicken.” Sebastian snorted and his hand jerked–the gesture would have concluded with brushing his scalp, Jim knew.

“Hair grows back,” Jim said softly. “Now I would like to take you to a shower again–can you behave?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sebastian lowered his head to the hood for all that he tensed as it settled on him.

Jim unlocked his arm and helped him to his feet. He walked him around and finally back to the shower. He unhooded him as he had before, but this time Sebastian wasn’t restrained, not really: one arm in a sling and a belt locked around his waist wasn’t going to do much…

Jim took his time washing him. Other people might find this subservient, he knew, but no… Sebastian was HIS and he was going to be certain that his Tiger accepted his touch everywhere… that it was a good thing, always.

He spent time washing his injured arm, carefully, and his legs. He spent time washing his feet, picturing the talons of an eagle–he’d taken a man’s eye out and almost killed him even after losing the use of his wing. He moved up and washed Sebastian’s face, carefully avoiding getting soap in his eyes, and moved over his scalp, and behind his head and down his neck.

“…sir…?” Sebastian’s voice was a relaxed rumble.

“Yes?”

“You…” he paused. “Nothing.”

Jim just smiled, “When you’re ready. Do you feel better?”

“You have good hands.”

“I’ve been told that. Now let’s get you up so I can do your back–just like before, Tiger.”

“I…” he changed subject again, “I have stripes?”

“Mm-hmmm.” Jim traced a few with his fingers, “Most of them will fade.” He went back to rubbing and massaging him–even now he had muscle. He talked Sebastian through breathing again as he washed his backside and genitals. Jim was pleased to see some stirrings of interest–there hadn’t been before–and Sebastian hadn’t protested at all, merely tensed.

When he was done and toweling the man off while he sat on the chair–the love of a warmed towel seemed to be universal–Sebastian finally spoke again.

“Are…” He took a deep breath and tried again, “Do you…”

“Do you want to ask me now, before I put you hood back on? Or after?” Jim looked at the startled look and smiled, “Sometimes it’s easier if you don’t have to see the reaction.”

Sebastian blinked at him and… “Oh… oh… maybe…?”

Jim put him back into the pants and slippers and hooded him. “What did you want to know?” Jim moved up close and kept a hand on his cheek.

“You… haven’t… done anything.”

“I haven’t hurt you, certainly.” Jim knew what he was angling at but wanted to see if he would actually say it.

Sebastian’s hand came up blindly and he clutched at Jim’s arm. “If… don’t hand me…” He was becoming very agitated now, and Jim moved in closer, pulling Sebastian’s head into his side. Sebastian’s heart was beating quickly and his breathing was erratic.

If he panicked, he might lash out. Jim decided to get to the point.

“I assume you were raped, Sebastian. Are you asking me about that?”

He froze, his good hand curling like talons into Jim–it hurt a bit, but pain never bothered Jim that much. “I wasn’t… but they… tried...” Very quietly, very cautiously, with all the latent violence implied…

Jim smiled down at him, “You are mine, Sebastian, all mine… and if any of my people tried anything like that, you have my full permission to kill them.” He felt Sebastian relax faintly. “Although that would be a mercy: I wouldn’t be as quick.”

“I… can’t see whose coming in… and they don’t talk…” Jim could feel him settling slowly.

“You don’t need anyone but me.”

“You… haven’t…”

“You’re a beautiful man, Sebastian, and if you wanted to be more than my sniper, my bodyguard, and my hunting eagle someday when you’re recovered… well, I wouldn’t throw you out of my bed… but…” He leaned down pressing into him and stroked down his back, “That’s a while from now to even consider.”

Sebastian melted into him, shaking and likely being grateful for the hood hiding any tears.

“I think that’s enough excitement for today, don’t you? Let’s go back to your room.”

Sebastian trusted him to guide him, walking easily, with his arm resting comfortably on Jim’s arm on the walk back.


	5. Shift

Over the next couple of days Jim took over Sebastian’s physical therapy as much as he could, but he still had to hood him a few times as doctors and therapists came in and looked him over. Sebastian had very clearly touched the door the next day after the demonstration–the alerts went off, after all–but he must have been quick about it since he didn’t seem injured. Jim very politely didn’t mention it.

Jim did get him to talk about his fears a bit more: apparently they had raped some of the other prisoners, and they had deliberately hit him and shocked him in the groin several times. Jim had to coax the details from him, but after hearing about it he hooded him and got the doctor to go over him again, focusing on those injuries.

After he got the reports, he sat and spoke with him, “No permanent damage, Tiger.” Jim held his hand to his cheek, “Some things to watch out for in the long run, of course–that’s true for all of your injuries–but nothing to worry about right now.”

Sebastian’s relief was palpable. “They… threatened to…”

“People are remarkably uninventive,” Jim rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, cut it off and… pass you around?”

“They… yeah.”

 _They were idiots_. Jim smiled and stroked down Sebastian’s arm–he wasn’t restrained any more, just the sling on his injured arm; Sebastian showed no sign of stress from Jim touching him. “You were far too dangerous. Do you know what else was wrong?”

“Wrong?” Sebastian frowned, “Uh… no?”

“You were an eagle, Sebastian: the eagles and hawks have a long history in that region–the old kings and chieftains were supposed to have been eagle changers.”

“What? No one told me that?!”

“They should have, shouldn’t they?” Jim smiled and kept petting him. “Some of them probably had a holdover of respect: that someone who changed into a raptor was a noble… others, of course, would have hated you worse…”

“I… I had no idea…”

“I suspect it’s why they handed you over so readily–not wanting to have killed an eagle changer themselves. You should have been told, assuming your superiors bothered to look it up. Most of the Middle East–well, honestly most of anyplace, but there especially–have certain animals that are viewed as noble or ignoble.” Jim paused, “England too.”

“You’re Irish, not English,” Sebastian pointed out.

“True, although I work in England a lot.” Jim chuckled, “It’s funny: I actually spent most of my time in England–I moved from Ireland as a child–but the accent comes back if I don’t pay attention.” He felt Sebastian’s heart rate soothing, his muscles relaxing under his hand and smiled, “I assume you don’t hold any bigotry against the Irish?”

“I try not to,” Sebastian said sincerely. “I grew up with a bit of it, but… the army, you know… we have people from all over.”

“True, but some never get over it. Admitting you grew up with it helps: it’s easy to go back to habits.”

“We had… we had an Irish lad in one of the other units… another shifter.” Sebastian’s eyes took on the faraway quality of memory. “He was odd–most of the military shifters are, you know, predators? He was a hare.”

“Really? That’s a very good animal in Irish folklore.”

“He stayed in human form most of the time–too many predators–but… he was a good man, helped a lot of people… I… I hope he’s okay.”

“I could try to look him up, if you like.”

“Honestly, I’d rather not know if it was bad.” Sebastian shrugged. “Lost too many. The changers were rare, so… I guess we all got to know each other.”

“That makes sense.” Jim smiled, “So… ready for a walk?”

“Yes, sir.” He lowered his head for the hood and they walked, Jim trying not to give anything away.

“Is… is something wrong?”

 _Guess I did give it away. Oh, well._ “I’m a bit excited, actually.”

“Excited?”

“You’ll see.”

They got into the room and Jim closed and locked the door. Sebastian cocked his head, “That’s… different.”

“Oh yes, this is a different room–you’ve never been in here before.”

“It smells like cars.”

Jim had him lean down and took the hood off him.

~

Sebastian blinked several times. This room was huge–no, it was like a garage or a warehouse–and there were pads hung on most of the walls, and something like gym mats all over the floor… and a bird stand…

He drew his breath in sharply, “I can change?”

“You can shift,” Jim smiled at him–how had he ever thought this man was unpleasant? “I did bring the drugs to help if you need it, but mostly I need to take off your sling.” His voice got very firm, “You may not fly well, or may not be able to fly at all yet–it’s okay, you WILL recover.”

Sebastian barely held himself in check as Jim took the sling off. He flexed the arm a few times and nodded, locked his eyes on the far wall and took three running steps–and changed.

The world spun crazily in his mind as the Eagle took ascendancy– _FLY! FLY!!!_ His wing was weak and he spun to the side and crashed into the ground– _it was soft_ … He screamed at the air and hooked his beak into the… _fluff? The floor was fluff? There was a skin_ –plastic, his mind supplied– _and inside that was fluff…_ he became distracted picking at it.

“Sebastian? Tiger?” A voice was talking to him… had been for a while. He slowly tracked up to see a human standing next to a stand…

 _Jim… the man who helped him?_ He flapped his wings and winced.“Skreee!” _Frustration!_

Jim walked up slowly. “Do you understand me?”

He nodded his head as much as he could, keeping his eyes on the man: he looked so different with his eagle eyes.

Jim held out a hand with a heavy glove on it. “I’d like to get you to the stand so you can exercise your wing.”

Sebastian contemplated it and eventually held up a foot. Jim slid his gloved hand forward and Sebastian stepped up.

“You… are much larger than I pictured…” Jim carefully stroked down the birds feathers.

Sebastian wanted to bite him, but it felt nice… He didn’t bite him but he poked at the glove with his beak.

Jim carried him over to the perch and he stepped off. “Now that you won’t hit the floor, you should spend some time stretching your wings, and maybe flapping a bit…”

Sebastian snorted, as if he didn’t know what to do with his wings! He stretched both his wings out full… _OW!_

_Uh… okay, maybe that was a bad idea._

Jim moved up and started petting and straightening his feathers gently–it felt nice. “You are a magnificent bird.”

Sebastian stretched his wings again, more slowly this time. Jim clapped softly. “Can you go through the full range of motion if you do it slowly?”

Sebastian tried: he could do it, it just twinged a lot.

“Now, Tiger… would you like to stay in here for a while? I have some business to do, but I can leave you in here–IF you promise not to overdo it.”

Sebastian flapped as much as he could and bobbed his head.

Jim walked over and pointed to a box with a button on the ground near the door. “That’s a call button. If you end up in trouble just push that, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

Sebastian “Kiiii”-ed at him in agreement. He seemed to get it.

He left and Sebastian concentrated on stretching and flapping his wings. After a while he got tired and did something he’d missed–the hood was nice, but it wasn’t quite right–he tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep.

~

 _DAMN, Golden Eagles were big!_ Jim was grinning madly as he went back to his office. _It’s one thing to read about it and a totally different thing to see it in person._

Rose was waiting in his office. “I take it it went well?”

“He is a magnificent bird!” Jim said smugly. “He recovered his wits fast, too.”

“Really? After all those injuries I would have expected him to revert to feral…”

“No, he understood me after a few minutes–he was rather feral at first, of course–but he understood me and cooperated.” Jim flipped on the monitor to the room to watch Sebastian very carefully and seriously stretching and moving: he slowly took one foot off the perch and stretched a wing out, then returned to rest, then did the other wing…

Rose laughed delightedly, “He’s doing PT!”

Jim smiled, “Yes, he is–such a wonderful treasure.”

“Did you want to go over his medical with me? I know you said I had an assignment…”

“I have a possible assignment, but…” Jim looked away from the monitor, “I know you mostly wanted to retire, Rose.”

She sighed, “Yes... you rescued me and I owe you–and you’re a good boss–but I would like to try to retire.” She looked warily at him, “I can still be a nurse.”

“Would you consider a long undercover job? As a nurse? It’s risky… I won’t lie about it, but…”

“I’d consider. What did you have in mind?”

“Sherlock Holmes is off… well, you know.”

She grinned, “Taking down your network, supposedly.”

“Right,” he smiled. “As if all those people belong to me? I’m a consultant.” He shook his head. “He’s mostly been sent after people I dealt with–like I care? I got their money already.

“Anyway… his friend Watson… he’s dangerous, but he’s also not doing well. I expected the Holmes boys to tell him Sherlock was alive, but they haven’t.”

“Wait… they haven’t? But it’s been…?”

“Exactly.” Jim shrugged, “So I’m at a bit of a loss: John is the best leash on Sherlock, who is the best leash on Mycroft, but at this rate John might do something stupid.”

“So… you don’t want him killed?”

“Not at all. I want someone to keep an eye on him and try to keep him in one piece enough for whenever Sherlock gets home.”

“If they didn’t tell him… does Sherlock even care?” Rose asked thoughtfully.

“Oh, he cares.” Jim shrugged. “For all I know he expected Mycroft to tell the man, and Mycroft is strange that way. I want to put you in, under a new identity of course, as a nurse where John works.”

“I’m not cuddly, you know,” she said, looking thoughtful.

“I don’t think John likes ‘cuddly’ too much: he has an eye for a pretty girl and he hangs around with Sherlock and has a danger fetish. Just keep an eye on him and try to keep him engaged enough to not drink himself to death–alcoholic family.”

“Ah.” She looked at him for a bit–she always looked so harmless and ordinary, it was a great cover–“Is… look, you know I’m a shifter… is he going to have a problem with that? We creep some people out.”

“He’s an activated latent.” Jim said idly, glancing at the monitor and watching Sebastian, “He was listed as a non-shifter until he got shot–you know how that works.”

“Ah? What did he turn into?”

“A wolverine.”

Her eyes went wide, “Oh, THAT must have been a shock. How feral?”

“Completely. He couldn’t recognize his own men, apparently. They had to tranq him to take him down and almost lost him from the blood loss–but he took out three of the enemy first.” Jim grinned, “If I had known that before I never would have gotten as close to the man as I did–wolverines are badass.”

“Has he shown any sign of shifting after?”

“Nope, not even under stress, so probably a one-time deal.”

She gave him a side eyed look and grinned, “You know what I turn into…”

He grinned back, “You’d have cute kids.”

She snorted, “Cute, if you like them ripping out people’s throats!”

He grinned wider, “Yeah, like I said, cute kids.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a try…”


	6. outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which things happen very very fast

Sebastian woke up from the most restful sleep he’d had in… well, since the last time he’d changed, probably. He pulled his head up and blinked, looking around the room: some noise must have woken him up but there was nothing out of place.

The padding was obviously meant to help when he crashed–which he had. It was clearly a work garage: there were overhead lifts and winches. The windows were covered with the padding. His eyes found the rotors for the bay doors up in the dark ceiling–his eyes were very good in eagle form–so that was a door behind those pads.

_I could get out of here._

Sebastian contemplated that as he stretched carefully.

He’d have to do it in human form, since he couldn’t fly. He was probably very far from help, and Jim was… well, he wasn’t certain what Jim was, but he had connections enough to buy him from the terrorists and smuggle him out of the region.

And Jim wanted him to recover.

Sebastian put escape out of his mind for the moment and returned to stretching

“Yes, that’s the door.” Jim’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he almost fell off his perch.

Sebastian hissed at him indignantly.

“I was going to take you back to your room, but… would you like to see outside?” Jim sat up from behind a pile of padding with his laptop.

Sebastian cocked his head at him and looked back at the probable location of the bay doors.

“Yes, outside.”

“KiIiiii?”

Jim put the laptop down and pulled on the heavy glove. Sebastian stepped up onto it without hesitation.

“You are such a magnificent creature…” Jim murmured as he petted down his wing.

Sebastian couldn’t help but be a bit flattered.

Jim walked over and stepped behind the matt–this one turned out to have a gap behind it–and yes, there were the big bay doors, and a smaller door set into the side. Jim unlocked it– _biometrics, damnit_ –and Sebastian was outside for the first time.

It was beautiful. There was a drive up to the garage, but it was otherwise woods, and clean fresh air, and… _Oh God, it was beautiful._

Jim laughed, “I can’t wait to see you fly, truly… but… can you glide?”

Sebastian managed to drag his eyes back to look at Jim: he had a manic gleeful look in addition to the possessive look he always had. Sebastian nodded slowly. _I can probably glide, why?_

Jim braced himself and threw his arm up into the air.

And for a moment Sebastian was free…

~

Jim had come in while Sebastian slept–a ball of feathers on a perch–and through the camera on his laptop had seen the longing in the eagle as he noted the doors.

But he didn’t change back to try for them, whether because he didn’t want to change back just yet, or didn’t want to escape.

He’d startled so when Jim spoke up that Jim almost laughed. God, what a creature he was!

 _He couldn’t fly… maybe taking him outside would be… good_? Jim mused a bit… he couldn’t get far, it should be safe enough. So he took him outside and watched as Sebastian stared around in wonder at it all. He looked… he looked like he was half marveling and half terrorized, although how much of that was seeing the eagle’s mouth open and his tongue…

Eagle tongues looked very odd.

It was a crime to ground anything like this… and not a good crime. It was WRONG in some way that Jim could hardly define. It would be like… like… like not letting him stab anyone, or not letting Sherlock study things–it was his nature.

“I can’t wait to see you fly, truly… but… can you glide?” Jim asked and Sebastian nodded his head and looked puzzled.

Jim threw him into the sky.

There was a startled floundering of feathers for just a moment and then a long slow sweeping glide to the ground, pulling hard to the left, as his injured wing was weaker…

But he landed reasonably well.

Jim walked over, and Sebastian put his foot up immediately. “Again?” Jim asked. He could imagine the childlike “AGAIN!” as the eagle hopped on his hand and flapped.

Jim grinned and braced and threw him even higher.

This time he hung in the air for a moment before gliding to the ground–and much less of a pull to the left.

Jim walked up to him again. “I’m afraid of over doing it, so we have to go back.” The bird sagged, that was the only word for it. “But it’s probably good exercise for you and we can do it again tomorrow if it doesn’t rain.”

Sebastian nodded slowly and stepped up onto the glove. Jim walked them back into the garage and put him on the stand. He petted the sleek feathers–feathers were harder than he’d expected, not as soft as they looked, but it was a nice feeling–and went to the fridge to get out some meat he’d brought in with him.

Sebastian definitely looked interested in that.

Jim fed him much as he had when he was human. The first few bites he almost lost a bit of his finger, but it didn’t seem deliberate.

“You will need to change back, Sebastian…”

The bird hung his head and sighed–a remarkably human sound. Jim took him off the perch and placed him on the floor and stepped back. That weirdly eye hurting effect of space twisting around the changer happened and Sebastian stood for a moment before wobbling and sitting down on the floor.

“Overdid it?” Jim asked, knowing the answer.

“Yeah.”

Jim got out the sandwich he had saved and the drink and came back. He put an arm around Sebastian’s broad shoulders. “That was too much, and I shouldn’t have, but… I wanted to let you fly.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian sagged into him, “I needed it.”

Jim held bits of sandwich to his lips and fed him sips from the bottle of water and was delighted to see Sebastian never even raised his hand at all.

~

The next few days had pouring rain, and enough thunder that Jim hadn’t had to explain why they couldn’t go outside.

Jim hooded him and walked him to the greenhouse, though.

“Could… could I shift here?”

Jim looked thoughtful, “I don’t see why not? I’ll have to bring in another perch, though…”

Sebastian looked around, “I don’t need one? The benches are fine, and there’s the floor…”

“Alright.” Jim chewed on his lip slightly. “Just… try not to knock over any of my orchids?”

Sebastian laughed and shifted in place. A momentary dizziness later and he was looking UP at Jim, not down. “Siiiiaaa,” he said, as close as he could manage to “see?”

Jim smiled, “I don’t have my glove with me, silly of me. Your talons are too sharp for me to pick you up bare handed.”

Sebastian frowned. That was a problem.

“I’m getting a stick, alright? I promise I’m not going to hit you, I just need to lift you up to the bench with it.”

 _Why would he think I would be afraid_? Sebastian considered as Jim got out what looked like a… ah, broom… and extended the broom handle to him. _Oh, he didn’t know what the terrorists had hit me with, probably_. Sebastian stepped up onto the wooden broom handle and was carefully let down on the bench… actually on the back of the bench, which was a very nice perch, really.

“There,” Jim said, sitting back down. He petted and stroked and settled a few of Sebastian’s feathers. “Such a magnificent beast you are…”

Sebastian preened and then realized that a human could do something he couldn’t quite… and he had good hands… and… he hesitantly lowered his head.

“Hmm? Ohhhh, you like your head and neck rubbed in eagle form too?” Jim started soothing and rubbing; Sebastian almost pitched forward off the bench before he locked his feet.

After a while Jim asked, “Would you like your lunch in here? I could go get your lunch,” he chuckled, “and my glove, for that matter.”

Sebastian nodded his head and Jim dusted off his pants and got up. “Behave now, and I’ll see if I can get you a proper treat.”

He left and Sebastian resumed looking around. It was a very nice greenhouse. He walked to the edge of the bench and hopped down to the arm, and then over to the edge of the fountain. He walked along the edge of it until he got to where the water was nearest to the edge, running down in a sort of fall. He was ducking his head, drinking and splashing water, when someone walked in.

Sebastian looked over–expecting Jim had forgotten something–and found to his shock that he was seeing someone else. He froze.

The strange man was dressed like someone who worked in a hospital and was looking around as if… _oh, as if he was looking for a man._ For the moment Sebastian was hidden partially behind the bench: it was brown wood, he was brown feathers. He folded himself as small as he could and waited.

Another man in similar clothes came in.

“He’s not here!” hissed the first man–German accent, speaking English.

“Shit. Moriarty will be delayed for a bit, but if we don’t find him fast we won’t get out of here in time.” American accent.

The first man pulled a gun out of a concealed holster.

“What are you doing?”

“Not taking chances! He’s a damned tiger changer, what if he changed? What if he’s gone feral?”

The door opened and Jim walked back in with a bag and a few small objects, wearing the falconer’s glove.

His eyes narrowed, “Gentlemen? Exactly what are you doing here?”

The German man swung the gun at him, “Leaving,” and fired…

…and would have hit him except that as soon Sebastian had realized the danger he’d changed back. His hands grabbed his erstwhile perch–the back of the bench–and he vaulted it and swung his legs into the back of the German man–his shot went off and hit the wall just next to Jim.

He felt his arm scream in protest at the weight and the twist, but he ignored it: he used the momentum to regain his feet and swung a fist at the American, connecting if not well.

A clear, sharp whistle caused him to turn, saw Jim pulling a weapon and understood. He grabbed the American and swung him around, putting him in the line of fire from whatever Jim was about to do, and locking his good arm across his throat.

Jim fired what turned out to be a taser gun at the German who was trying to regain his pistol–he seized hard. A part of Sebastian’s mind realized that must be military grade… and then the American was struggling in his arms.

 _Well, my legs work fine,_ Sebastian thought and took the man down with a leg sweep and kicked the back of his knee to ensure he stayed down. Considering his weakened condition he looked to grab the pistol, but Jim had already picked it up.

“Good work, Tiger. Step over here?”

“Yes, sir.” He walked carefully over to Jim, who seemed rather unfazed by having a bullet damn near crease his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, but I’m obviously calling security.” The American looked up and found Jim holding a pistol on them both and froze. “Can you pull that glove off, Tiger?” he said holding out his–the glove was on his right hand, he was holding the pistol steady in his left, just as he’d fired the taser from a left grip. Sebastian put the data away as he pulled off his glove for him.

He put his right hand into a pocket and did something. “People are about to come running in,” Jim said calmly. “Just look at me.”

People did, in fact, come running in–three people: two men and a small dark woman who looked angry. It was unsettling and Sebastian realized that he hadn’t seen anyone but Jim before today… not since… He wondered if that dizzying feeling was normal.

Jim’s hands helped settle him. “Do you need your hood back?” he asked Sebastian quietly, “or will you be alright?”

Sebastian looked at the three people dragging those two out. “I… I’m okay. I’d hella rather have clothes on when I’m doing that, though… and my arm hurts a bit.”

“I should take you back and let the doctor look at you,” Jim frowned. “I’ll have to deal with this though.”

“Can… can I come with you?”

Jim put a hand on his cheek. “It’s a lot of people, Tiger, and I might be having to yell and be unpleasant… it wouldn’t be aimed at you, but would it upset you?”

He started to say No, but… “Maybe?”

“Let me hood you and take you back to your room,” Jim sighed, “and then I’ll go handle this.”

Sebastian ducked his head and let Jim hood him. They walked back through the hallways with Jim’s arm steady under his hand. Jim pulled the hood once they were back in his room.

“I don’t say this often, Tiger, so pay attention,” Jim said seriously. Sebastian nodded, wondering what was so important.

“Thank you,” Jim nodded and his lips were pressed together in a hard line. After a pause he said, “They… I’m exceedingly annoyed that they made it through my security checks.”

“They said you should be busy, and that they were getting me and… getting out? That if they couldn’t find me fast they would lose their window…” Sebastian sank gratefully onto the bed.

“Ah? But they didn’t see you–for that matter, I didn’t see you at first.”

“I’d gone to the fountain to get a bit of water and… well, splash a bit. Brown feathers behind a brown bench…”

Jim smiled. “That explains it. Incidentally, you change fast.”

“Drills,” Sebastian said with a touch of pride. “I was the best of the changers in the SAS. It’s… it’s why I was on reconnaissance as well as sniper work.”

Jim petted his head and neck. “Do you want the doctor to come see your arm now? Or wait?”

“I… could use some pain killers, actually.”

Jim sat down on the bed next to him and rubbed at his good shoulder and arm, stroking down it and making soothing gestures–almost as if he was settling feathers. It worked: Sebastian almost felt like he could sleep.

“I’m going to get you a protein shake for right now, and a pain killer… and I am leaving you with the idiot’s pistol.”

Sebastian blinked and looked startled. “Why?”

“If two got in, there may be more.” Jim sighed. “And my very best bodyguard and nurse just left for another assignment–they probably acted now because she did leave.”

Jim put the pistol down on the bedside table and went over to the mini fridge that Sebastian didn’t pay much attention to. He put the bag in it and got out a meal shake.

“Here.” Jim fed him sips of it until it was gone, and then gave him a pill and a glass of water. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, alright?”

“You… you’ll be safe, won’t you?”

Jim smiled that smile that looked… like a snake would look if it smiled–like a viper. “Well, I’m never safe… but better than those have tried.” He ran his hand across Sebastian’s hair and back to his cheek. “But getting shot hurts, so thank you again.”

He walked out and Sebastian lay back on the bed and dozed.


	7. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Change... in circumstances

_He’d saved my life._

As cavalierly as he liked to talk about it, that pistol had been on target to kill him–or at least take him down–until Sebastian had suddenly appeared.

Admittedly, having a surgeon and a full therapy team on-site might have made a difference, but that’s assuming they didn’t put a bullet into his brain before taking off.

The adrenaline started to come down and he stepped into an empty room to get his breathing back under control.

When he walked into the conference room, he was certain he looked as collected as ever. “Report,” he said idly and sat down in his chair.

The two prisoners were on their knees with their hands cuffed behind them, and looked a trifle the worse for wear: Andreas still looked a bit blue in the lips, but he had been tased hard.

Gerhardt reluctantly stated, “We found nothing at all unusual in their rooms.” He looked disappointed, and Lewis looked studiously blank–but then he always did.

“I’m sure I can get a few answers out of them.” Belize smiled sharply.

“Well… Andreas got tased and he looks a bit off; probably best to start asking the man who didn’t have a gun aimed at me.” He raised an eyebrow, “Lawrence?”

Lawrence just swallowed, “I don’t know anything about what happened… he wanted to talk to me and then he had a gun.”

Jim glanced at Andreas, “Are you going to let him throw you under the bus like that?”

Andreas didn’t say anything at all, but he didn’t contradict the man. _Hmmm_. Jim looked back at Lawrence, “What were you talking about then?”

“He’d just been… talking about work, and asking if I… if I liked it here… did I make enough money… we hadn’t been talking that long.”

“So you think he might have been feeling you out to… change employers?”

“I hadn’t thought so until… until he tried to shoot you, but yes.”

“Charming.” Jim smiled broadly then and he could almost hear Belize sharpening her knives. _Sebastian heard you: you had gone in together, planned already. You’re lying and Andreas is backing you up…_

“So do I dissect him?” Belize waved a knife at Andreas.

“Oh… eventually.” Jim smirked, “But we want to work on dear Lawrence first: he’s the important one, or he wouldn’t expect Andreas to just shut up and take it.”

“What?!” Lawrence had a very convincing sputter, “I’m telling the truth!”

“No… no, you aren’t.” Jim pulled out his knife and studied it carefully. “I’m going to give you a bit to consider your options, both of you, which includes options like ‘able to walk’ and ‘dying quickly’ as opposed to, oh,” he let his anger into his voice with a hiss, “being used as hide in my next leather projects–and living to see the results.” He put his cheerful, smiling face back on. “Don’t let them talk to each other and put them in the good cells. Possibly one of them will develop enough sense to start talking.”

Andreas just looked stoic, Lawrence looked panicked but Jim saw a bit too much planning in his eyes.

“Gerhardt? Tranq them first… and perhaps we should take them both to medical...”

With that, Lawrence shifted: the cuffs and shackles slowed him down but they were never meant to hold a big cat. Gerhardt was trying to subdue him before he realized what he was changing into and got raked in the leg. Belize flipped backward rapidly.  Andreas started screaming in panic– _so he hadn’t known._

Lawrence had shifted fast–fast enough to indicate serious training, but still… far slower than Sebastian.

Jim brought up a small canister and fired a spray at the cat that vaporized into droplets and smoke. The cougar spat, coughed, and sprang at him… and landed on him as a human.

Jim brought up both feet and kicked him back. Lewis tackled him and pinned him in place.

“Oooh,” Jim smiled, “we have a KITTY…”

Lawrence was retching and spasming on the floor under Lewis. Andreas had only just stopped screaming and was trying to move away.

“I guess Lawrence didn’t tell you he was a shifter, did he?” Jim said sweetly at Andreas. “Perhaps you’d like to tell us all about it? Or I can arrange for you two to share a cell after all… cozy… especially when it wears off and he can shift again…”

Andreas started talking–or babbling anyway. Jim had Gerhardt get to medical and Lewis take Lawrence to the good cells. Belize was quite capable of guarding a man in shackles–she was probably disappointed she didn’t have to hamstring him.

_A cat changer–a cougar, unless I miss my guess; valuable, those. He wouldn’t be a petty criminal, or even this low in my hierarchy as a big cat changer–even if he went feral–so someone had planted him here. Someone had planted him and Andreas, who hadn’t known…_

Jim smiled his shark smile and looked down at Andreas cowering in a pool of piss. “They didn’t tell you he was a shifter, of course…”

“No, I didn’t know!” Jim read the man easily now, his terror stripping away his masks: _bigoted, frightened, a head full of tales of werewolves and feral changing folk._

“They need to be leashed and collared…” Jim all but purred. “He could have… eaten you, Andreas…”

“I didn’t know! I didn’t! God, he was… he was a cat like that one you have! God…”

Jim felt a genuine smile play around the corner of his mouth, “Oh yes, my Tiger… but I CONTROL him… he’s leashed… I wonder if your employer meant him to kill you, when you were done?”

Andreas babbled, telling Jim all he knew–which wasn’t much–but the bits and pieces he let slip told Jim more than that.

After a while, Jim nodded, “I won’t let the nasty shifter get to you, Andreas.” He nodded at Belize and she was on him with her knives–pent-up fury and hate released.

Jim left while he was still alive–technically.

He picked up food and went back to his marvelous Tiger–his Tiger who had fought for him, flown and hit them with his talons… even in human form. Jim smiled a peculiar smile–it almost looked human.

~

Sebastian was dozing–painkillers were wonderful things–when he heard the door. He was reaching for the pistol when Jim’s voice said, “Are you hungry, Tiger?”

He relaxed and let his hand drop back. “I don’t know, sir… I think so? Those painkillers are marvelous…”

Jim laughed, “Until you come down.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian smiled ruefully and forced his eyes open: Jim was walking over with a platter of steak.

Jim set the plate up and elevated his head, and started feeding him bites of steak–it was wonderful. Sebastian lay still and quiet and let Jim feed him. _I never knew I had a kink for that._ Jim looked more honestly pleased than he’d ever seen him.

 _Of course he is: he told me from the first what he wanted, and he said he wanted a bodyguard._ “So who were they?” he asked quietly.

“Oddly enough, the man with the gun wasn’t the one who knew everything. We got quite a bit out of him,” Jim smiled. “He was rather bigoted about shifters.”

“I heard him. He pulled the gun because he was afraid I was a tiger…”

“I don’t know if you remember, Sebastian, but I said–”

“–that if they thought I was a tiger they wouldn’t be prepared to contain an eagle,” Sebastian finished.

“Oddly, the other one? Lawrence? He turned out to be a shifter–a cougar.” Jim stroked down Sebastian’s chest. “I think I prefer eagles…”

“He was a shifter?” Sebastian frowned, “He didn’t shift when we fought?”

“He had enough control to wait, and avoid being shot. He only changed when I gave the order to tranq them before taking them to the cells–when he thought he wouldn’t get a better chance.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply, “That’s…”

“Professional,” Jim nodded. “I’m just trying to find out now what group he worked for, and how much information he passed back before we found him.” He looked thoughtfully at Sebastian, “I make it very hard to get information out of here without my knowing it.”

“He sounded American…”

“Ostensibly, he was–that could be a very good cover, but I doubt it. That still leaves open who he works for. I know it’s popular to assume that people work for the spy agency of their home country, but they don’t always.”

“I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“Questioning him for information?”

Sebastian tried to smile bitterly but the pain killers took too much out of him. “Will you be hooding and hand feeding him too?”

Jim’s smile got very wide–Sebastian shivered: it reminded him of the illustrations of the Cheshire Cat–“No… I don’t think so. I don’t have any interest in keeping him.”

“But you want to keep me.”

“I AM keeping you.” Jim reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, and then started rubbing little circles into his scalp. “Look at you, even injured you took them down, and you’re intelligent and deadly and…” Jim shivered slightly, “Oooh, I am keeping you, Tiger.”

“So this is it?” he waved his good arm around the room. “Just… keep me hooded and alone when you don’t want me?”

“Oh no, no Tiger… no… I just needed to be sure you wouldn’t try to run, because if you did I’d have to catch you and bring you back, and you wouldn’t like that.” Jim moved his chair closer and started working his fingers into Sebastian’s scalp and neck. Sebastian found his head lolling into it and his mouth dropping open just a bit– _painkillers, right?_

“Didn’t I leave you with a gun, Sebastian? I’m just trying to keep you safe until you can defend yourself.”

“Why don’t I shoot you?”

Jim leaned down and made Sebastian look at him–his eyes were shifting shades of brown and very deep–“Because you don’t WANT to, Sebastian. I rescued you–you owe me your life–and I’ll make certain you can fly again, can shoot again… I want you to be the very best.”

Sebastian opened and closed his mouth a few times, almost panting, unable to look away. “I’m ALONE…” he whispered.

“Never,” Jim said letting go of his head and sitting back. “You are never alone, Sebastian–you have me.”

“Then don’t hood me and leave me here.”

Jim cocked his head in a very raptor-like fashion. “Since I think we’ve proven that you don’t want to be rescued–or taken–and that I can trust you… you can stay with me, instead of staying here… if you like.” Jim held up a hand, “You’ll spend most of your day the same way you do here… possibly in this room, in fact… while I work on the computer.”

“If people are treating me, I want to see them.”

Jim fought down the irrational desire to keep him to himself a bit longer. “…alright. Given that we’ve found two people who got past my security…” he sighed, “Alright.”

Sebastian looked unsettled and uneasy, but kept relaxing into Jim’s hands. After a while, when Jim was almost convinced that he was asleep again, he asked–without opening his eyes–“What will happen to the shifter? The… cougar.”

Jim hesitated, “I don’t really want to tell you–it doesn’t matter, it will never happen to you.”

“That bad, huh?”

“How can I trust him? How can I ever trust him? He was here, in my employ, passed so many security checks, and he was a spy. Would you trust him, if you were me?”

“…no.”

“What would you do?”

“Kill him.” Those brilliant eyes opened and looked at him–looked through him. “I don’t play with my food, or my kills: he might, he’s a cat.”

Jim petted him, “How have you gotten so far under my skin, Tiger?”

“What?”

“I don’t usually bother to explain myself, much less consider what anyone else thinks about my actions.” Jim shook his head.

He stood up suddenly and pulled Sebastian to sitting up, “I’m going to question him, Tiger, so that I know why he was here, and who sent him–after that? My plans were to send him to a research lab I run–improving the drugs for shifters takes research, and subjects are hard to come by.”

Sebastian shuddered, but before he could say anything Jim put a finger on his lips.

“If, after we find out what I need to know… you think he’s able to be kept? I’ll consider it. If you want to kill him? I’ll think about it. No guarantees, Sebastian, and its more than most people get.”

Sebastian took a deep breath and let it out, “Understood.”

Jim smiled suddenly, “Now let me get your hood on and we’ll go to my rooms.”

Sebastian blinked at him, “Your rooms?”

“You wanted to stay with me, didn’t you?” Jim laughed, “Do you expect me to sleep here?”

Sebastian looked around at the hospital style bed, the physical therapy tools… and laughed, “No. No, that would be… no.”

Jim held up the hood and Sebastian lowered his head to it without any hesitation at all… and Jim walked him down the hallways to his suite like a king with an eagle on his glove.


	8. falconry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek behind the curtain

Sebastian heard the beeps of an electronic lock, but the floor under his feet didn’t change when they went through. Once the door closed behind him, Jim unhooded him. He blinked around, taking in a suite: there was something like an office, or a sitting room–it was full of shelves, and the shelves were full of books and odd knick-knacks; there were pictures on the wall, surveillance type photos, but framed, and a few newspaper clippings; there were more books piled on tables, next to chairs. It was so very different from his hospital room, but…. He looked back at Jim and back around.

“So what do you see?” Jim sounded curious. “Not many people ever see my rooms.”

“It…” he hesitated. “I’m probably tired.”

“I assume you are tired, Tiger. I’d still like to know what you see.” Jim chuckled, “You won’t get in trouble.”

“I’d say it belonged to someone tired, and probably depressed.”

Jim rocked back and blinked a lot. “Really?” He looked around as though he was trying to see it. “What makes you say that?”

“Most of the books haven’t moved, only the ones near that chair; the other furnishings in here don’t get used, except that chair, and that sofa; and the room light is rarely turned on–you normally just use the reading light–and the curtains are closed.”

“You sound like someone I used to know… only more polite,” Jim said quietly. “How do you know the room light isn’t turned on, but the reading light is?”

“Dust, mostly.” Sebastian was standing still but his sharp eyes took it all in.

Jim looked around thoughtfully and then a lopsided smile flashed across his face. “Well, I suppose I might be–depressed. I really have nothing to compare it to, but I know I miss England terribly, and I miss the games I used to play…” His voice got quieter. “It’s so terribly dull, now.”

He walked over and sat down in the chair, stretching his legs out. “Feel free to take the books off a chair, or dust it or something and make yourself a place.”

“That’s it?”

“I have a nice hard-backed chair you could use as a perch if you prefer.”

Sebastian walked over slowly and moved a lot of books so he could pull a chair over–the top two of them were on falconry. He looked up at Jim who smiled.

“Of course I did my research. I hadn’t exactly gone shopping for an eagle changing sniper, after all: I had to catch up quickly.”

Sebastian looked down and sorted through the books and magazines: all about birds, about eagles, about falconry. There were books on the history of it and a book that seemed out of place… about some historical romance? He held it up.

“The author keeps falcons. She wrote in some very realistic falconry scenes.” He looked thoughtful, “The sex isn’t bad if you’re into straight and vanilla.”

“You read Arabic?” Sebastian was looking at a falconry magazine, entirely written in Arabic.

“Yes. Business, you know,” he shrugged. “I hadn’t realized how much my vocabulary was limited to certain topics until I tried to read that one; it’s been good practice.”

Sebastian sat down in the chair and looked around slowly, “Where are we?”

“I should say ‘my rooms’ and leave it at that,” Jim smirked, “but in actual fact? Maine.”

“Isn’t that in America?!”

“Yes. Remote, lots of lakes, woods… and no one expects me here.”

“Isn’t Maine… where Steven King is?”

“He writes about Maine,” Jim agreed. “Just in case you wondered, we are literally miles from anyone else–not far if you can fly, I suppose, but…”

Sebastian sighed and looked at his arm, “I could walk that far.”

“Certainly you could,” Jim nodded. “I’d be rather disappointed.”

“Would you let me go?”

Jim looked thoughtful. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

Sebastian hadn’t expected to get an honest answer–not that honest, anyway. From the look on his face, Jim wasn’t entirely certain about having given him one.

Sebastian decided to change the subject while he considered things, “So… why Maine? I mean, you aren’t American.”

“Born in Ireland, raised mostly in England,” Jim said idly. “Officially dead–suicide, you know–although quite a few people believe Sherlock murdered me.”

“And I’m lost here…”

Jim waved at some of the framed surveillance type photos and a scrap book. “Sherlock Holmes, brilliant detective, and his blogger John Watson, sadly discovered to be a fraud who was setting up the crimes himself, blah blah blah…” Jim sat back and closed his eyes. “Boring. Utterly, completely, boring and too easy. Sherlock can’t get along with people to save his life, so… everyone believed it–everyone that mattered.”

Sebastian cocked his head at the clippings and at the photos. “What happened to him?”

“Hmm? Oh, I had snipers on all of his friends–supposedly. He jumped off the roof after ‘admitting’ to being a fraud–I was impressed, his stunt worked.”

“He survived, I guess?”

“Yes. More importantly, his big brother who runs the SIS was too busy dealing with his fake death to wonder about mine.” Jim flashed a smile, all teeth and not at all friendly, “He had a sniper waiting to shoot me–but there’s no point in shooting a dead man, now is there?”

Sebastian stared at him. “That’s brilliant.”

Jim nodded regally, “Thank you, I usually am.”

“What… what did he do?” Sebastian waved at the newspaper headline in the frame: Fake Detective Commits Suicide. “That you wanted him to do that…”

“Sherly?” Jim laughed, “Oh, not really that much. I was playing with him, he was playing with me, a few people got hurt or killed. Unfortunately, he’d gotten rather unexpectedly attached to Watson: when I put him in the game, he stopped playing.”

“You… did that because he stopped playing?” Sebastian felt like he was missing so many pieces, but that didn’t sound right.

“No–I did that because big brother had me held in his cells and tortured.” Jim’s smile got sharper and more shark-like, “Big Brother is the mind behind the SIS, you see. It’s amazing all the things a government gets up to when no one is watching it.” The smile vanished off his face as though it had never been. He stared at the framed headline. “Mycroft–Big Brother–only has one chink in his armor that I know of, and that’s Sherlock.” He closed his eyes. “I was… a bit upset.”

 _Tortured? In England?_ “Maybe… maybe you should get some sleep?”

“You wanted to stay with me. I don’t have a guest room–or a spare cot. As I said, I have my bed, the floor, the chairs–at least one of which would make a lovely perch.” Jim got up and stretched. He walked over to Sebastian with such assurance that Sebastian simply blinked at him.

“Shift,” Jim said firmly. Sebastian didn’t think at all, he just did. Jim pulled his glove on and he stepped up.

“You really are a magnificent bird. I never saw an eagle up close before–photos don’t do your species justice.”

Sebastian lowered his head and Jim rubbed soothingly at the back of his neck–which may be why he didn’t notice that he was in the bedroom until he was.

He was perched on the back of a chair, watching as Jim took his clothes off carefully, brushed them, and hung then out to air. He had a pistol in a shoulder holster and a knife sheath on his ankle–and another in the small of his back.

That didn’t surprise him.

What was a bit of a surprise was seeing the marks of past injuries, some of which… well, some were obvious–others less so. Some of them looked old, very old, and some were more recent. A few looked like bites…

He pulled on a pair of pajamas entirely unlike his day-to day style: they were old and worn and looked comfortable.

“Do you want to stay a bird for the night?”

Sebastian nodded slowly.

“I keep a knife and a gun in grab range when I sleep,” he said very calmly. “If you want to move around too much, go out, or come to the bed… make noise first.”

 _Well that just made sense_. Sebastian nodded.

Jim turned out the lights–there was a light shining under the door from the bathroom–and went to sleep. Sebastian tucked his head under his wing and did the same.

Sometime in the night Sebastian woke up because of motion and sound–he pulled his head up and looked around: Jim was sitting up in bed scrubbing his face in the dim light–no one else was there. Sebastian went back to sleep.

In the morning, Jim took him into the dining room and gave him the choice of breakfast as an eagle or as a man: after considering the coffee pot, he turned back.

“Coffee,” Jim laughed. “I swear, you could recapture half the ferals from the military with a good cup of coffee.”

“Only half?”

“Mmm.” Jim got himself a cup of something that smelled sweet and put marshmallows in it. “For the rest, you use hot chocolate.”

Jim very carefully formed Sebastian’s hands around the cup of coffee and guided it to his mouth before letting go. It seemed so normal that Sebastian didn’t question it until he was drinking his coffee, watching Jim putting things in a small oven and then drinking his hot chocolate. _Blink blink blink…_ “Damn, I didn’t even notice.”

“Notice what?”

“That’s the first cup I’ve held by myself in a while.” Sebastian sighed, “I’d had a course in counter-interrogation training and they talked about forced dependence…”

“It’s a whole new ballgame to live it, isn’t it?” Jim’s smile flickered across his face and vanished. “I would expect it’s a lot more bearable when its good food and a kind hand.”

“I… think I’ve gotten to like it, actually,” Sebastian decided to return honesty for honesty, “and that’s unsettling, to say the least.”

Jim walked over to him and started rubbing his head and neck and Sebastian melted, tilting his head into the hand.

“I couldn’t use my hands when they had me,” Jim said quietly, “not most of the time. The handcuffs bit into my wrists–the plastic zip ties were worse.”

Sebastian pulled his head up with effort and looked at him. _He was a smaller man than I was, but it was hard to keep that in mind._ “You look bigger than you are.”

“Heh.” Jim smirked, “Good.”

Sebastian carefully took his hand–Jim let him–and turned it, looking at Jim’s wrist. _He always wore a watch, or a glove, or long sleeves, or…_ The scars were there, not so bad on one wrist, horribly obvious on the other.

“They left me in a stress position–partial suspension–and I couldn’t keep my legs under me,” Jim said calmly when he traced the wrist with the bad scarring. “I got… tangled somehow and…”

“You wear a watch on that wrist.”

“Always,” Jim nodded, “or a wrist band, or something. Putting cosmetics on your wrist doesn’t hold up for long.”

Sebastian held out his hands and looked: they were healing, his wrists were healing, he would have a scar from the burn on one wrist, and yes, the scars from the restraints on the other–but not from Jim’s restraints. _He’d been very careful with me_.

“Breakfast?” Jim said after he’d compared their wrists for a time.

“Yes, sir.”

Jim got a mitt and pulled the tray out of the oven: it turned out to be potatoes and sausages. He divided it onto two plates and switched out his own hot chocolate for tea.

“So… do I get to feed myself?” Sebastian asked him. It was a very odd situation.

“You get the first bites from me, Tiger.” Jim fed him a bite of sausage–which was excellent, if a bit oddly seasoned–and then a bite of potato. Sebastian brought his hand up slowly and Jim handed him the fork. The next few bites he held the fork with Jim’s hand over his: it was… oddly comfortable.

“You… are far too good at this.”

“I am far too good at a lot of things, Tiger.” He made it sound like an innuendo–maybe it was.

“I… I like you, I honestly do… but… I still don’t know if I can stay…”

“You can’t go anywhere right now, can you?”

“No?”

“Then stop concerning yourself about it.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Sebastian… you are the first person to share a room with me while I slept–outside of prison–in almost twenty years. No, it’s not easy to say.”

Jim finished his food and stood up. “I have to get dressed and go deal with that kitty cat, and you have physical therapy.”

“Twenty years? Uh… but, um…”

Jim raised an eyebrow at him.

“What about sex?”

Jim snickered, “Well, you don’t have to sleep for that.” He shrugged. “I don’t, usually. It’s far too vulnerable a position, and too easy to be trapped. Besides, my tastes run a bit… hot for most folks.”

“Hot?”

“You aren’t sharing my bed, Tiger–or at least we aren’t having sex. If you decide you might want to, we’ll discuss it–until then it’s irrelevant.”

Jim smiled and pulled out a pair of slacks and then a thin shirt–Sebastian’s size, although not a style or color he would usually wear.

“Here you go, Tiger…” He put down a pair of real shoes, not slippers, and a watch–the twin to the one Jim wore.

When he’d gotten dressed, he saw himself in a mirror, fully, for the first time: he looked like hell, bruised still and scarred and his hair at least looking a bit like a buzz cut, and he was standing next to Jim who looked polished and deadly.

“I look like hell.”

“You’re a bit the worse for wear still, but you’ll do. Remember, no matter what happens, I am NOT angry at you. If you need to take a break–whether it’s to be hooded or just get into a room by yourself for a bit–tap your watch.” Jim pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on.

Sunglasses inside and he managed to carry that off.

The tired and somewhat sad Jim who looked oh-so-small in his flannel pajamas and made breakfast and drank hot chocolate slipped away and he was suddenly the terrifying, untouchable man he’d been when they’d met.

“Showtime.”


	9. cats and birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one cat to another...

For the first time, Sebastian walked down a hallway in this building able to see it all. He quickly realized that it wasn’t one building, but a complex of buildings, and they were avoiding most of it.

“This is officially a rehabilitation and art therapy facility,” Jim said casually as they walked past what Sebastian was fairly certain was his room.

“Which would explain the medical, I suppose.” Sebastian felt a bit overwhelmed and was beginning to think this had been a mistake.

A small, dark woman–the same one who had come running into the greenhouse–walked up and stopped short at the sight of Sebastian.

“Belize? Sebastian,” Jim nodded and kept walking. She fell in beside him on the other side.

“That’s your tiger is it? Let him off the leash?”

Sebastian answered her, “I was never on a leash, and I’m not exactly off one. Who are you?”

Belize blinked a few times and shot a questioning look at Jim. Jim chuckled, “Well, he doesn’t know the rules–not yet. Sebastian? Belize is one of my personal guards–not a shifter, incidentally. She uses knives by preference and has a bit of a temper issue–don’t piss her off.”

They walked into a room that made Sebastian very uneasy: it looked like a small garage or workshop, but… something was wrong. Belize did an area search of the room as they went in, and took up a position against a wall.

Jim glanced at him. “Stand behind me, and keep your hand on my shoulder if it makes you feel better, Tiger,” he said quietly, sitting in the only chair in the room. “You can’t actually perch on my arm or shoulder, but you can fake it.”

Jim sat back and crossed one leg over his knee. Sebastian put a hand on his shoulder and felt somewhat comforted.

Several men came in–he’d seen two of them with Belize in the greenhouse–dragging a man who looked… he looked ill. They forced him to the center of the room and put his wrist cuffs onto… a chain? Sebastian looked up–there was a winch. They locked his ankle cuffs to a chain to the floor and hauled him up–it took that long for Sebastian to recognize the man from the greenhouse.

“Hello again. Lawrence,” Jim’s voice was a hiss and amusement. “Ready to talk a bit? Or shall we play?”

“What… what did you give me…” Lawrence was swaying on his feet and the overhead chains were probably all that was keeping him up.

“You look unsteady.” Jim waved at a guard, “Put him on his knees.”

There was a hum as the chain played out and one of the guards actually guided him down. Sebastian considered that–when his captors had put him on his knees they dropped him hard–Jim was taking care not to damage Lawrence’s knees. His hand relaxed some on Jim’s shoulder.

“This can get far worse, Lawrence–far worse,” Jim said as casually as if he was discussing the weather, “so I suggest you start to talk before I let Belize at you…” Belize smiled happily.

They went back and forth a bit, with Lawrence cursing him and refusing to answer, and Jim alternating screaming and soft words–sometimes in the same sentence. It bothered Sebastian at first when he screamed–it was so unusual–but then he reminded himself of Jim’s assurances: “I’m not angry at you”, and “I’ll have to yell at people”. It was just very odd and the shifts were so abrupt.

 _It’s deliberate,_ Sebastian realized suddenly. _He’s shifting unpredictably between calm and soothing and insane threats and screaming. It’s… it’s part of conditioning! Unpredictable responses, sudden threats: no one knows how to respond so they try to keep him calm, because he’s apparently irrational…_

_He’s keeping them off balance. “Showtime,” he said…_

Sebastian was marveling over the pitch and cadence and the way everyone responded to Jim’s inflection that he actually missed most of the conversation. It was when Jim sighed and said, “Well, you don’t actually NEED your tendons, does he Belize?” that he snapped back into the present.

“Sir?”

Jim startled at that, although if he hadn’t had his hand on the man’s shoulder he never would have known. Jim rolled his head back to look at him upside down, “Yes, Tiger?”

“Let me speak to him, sir? One… one cat to another…”

He could see Jim’s eyes behind the glasses and they looked puzzled, but he finally shrugged and went, “Why not?” and waved him on.

Sebastian stepped over carefully and crouched down to his level. “Can you even understand me? You look like hell.”

“If you think I’ll tell you anything just because–”

Sebastian met his eyes and stared at him until the man started growling. “I’m trying to save you a lot of trouble.”

“Save my life? Not hardly.” He spat.

“No. No, if you are very lucky–and I mean that–you’ll die.”

That got him to stop and look perplexed. “You must have flunked interrogation classes…”

“Actually? I had very high marks.” Sebastian sighed, “But the boss told me what happens to you after this–when they’re done asking questions. He has a research facility developing drugs…”

“Like what the bastard gave me?” He was collapsed now on all fours, having trouble keeping his balance even on his knees.

“Probably. Answer his questions, all of them, tell him everything he wants to know, and I’ll put a bullet in your brain nice and neat and clean… or, when he’s done with you, you go to the labs.”

Sebastian could see the man shuddering. He added, “Do you think you’d be able to escape–or die–in a lab designed to test drugs on shifters?”  Sebastian stood up and walked back to Jim, returning to his position–it was as close to coming back to his glove as he could, he supposed.

Lawrence looked up at Jim with an effort, “You’re a fucking bastard, you know.”

Jim smiled pleasantly, “I believe my Tiger made you a very generous offer–the question is, are you going to take it?”

~

A part of Jim was furious for Sebastian presuming, but… he had asked first–sort of–and truthfully if Lawrence talked voluntarily it would be neater and in all likelihood faster.

So when Sebastian turned and came back to his place, Jim treated it like a falcon returning to a glove and rewarded him.

“I believe my Tiger made you a very generous offer–the question is, are you going to take it?”

He did.

They had been planted in Jim’s organization from the beginning of their time here–Jim had already deduced that. They had, indeed, had difficulty getting word out, but had managed to do so in the chaos of Jim’s arrival with his new “Tiger”, and had received word back to retrieve the shifter if possible, kill him if needed, and create whatever distraction they needed to leave.

Because they’d been recalled–their employer deciding to get their reports at last rather than risk losing them.

And their employer?

His very own dear, treacherous Sir Edwin.

Jim asked for, and got, the records of their contacts as confirmation–Lawrence hardly even lifting his head from the floor while they waited for his people to retrieve it.

Once Jim had verified it all, he glanced up at the man standing at his shoulder. “Sebastian? Do I take it you would prefer the option of shooting the man?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim nodded, “Not in here, if you please: concrete and gunshots are so terribly loud.”

Sebastian hesitated. “Could…” He looked at Lawrence thoughtfully, “Could I take him outside? I don’t know if he shares my view on it, but I know I’d rather die where I can see the sky.”

“Yes, well… I think that’s more your nature than his.” Jim looked at the scandalized look on several of his people’s faces and shrugged. “I suppose we could.”

Lawrence didn’t put up a fight as they took him out of the chains and took him outside: perhaps he’d realized it was pointless; perhaps he didn’t care anymore. Sebastian paced solemnly alongside Jim, with Belize walking on his other side in puzzled silence. When they got outside, Jim calmly asked one of the men to hand Sebastian his pistol.

Sebastian took it and held it at ready, and then looked at Lawrence. “I’m a good enough shot to get you cleanly if you’d prefer to die running.”

“I’d prefer to rip your throat out, but whatever he gave me means I can barely stand. Get it over with.”

If anyone was puzzled that Sebastian was standing sideways to the man as he took his shot, the end result made it clear: he was dead in an instant–the bullet taking out the base of his skull before embedding itself in the ground.

Jim smiled as Sebastian put the pistol back in order and returned it to the guard. “Why that shot, Tiger?”

“Didn’t know how you wanted to dispose of the body, Sir, but that doesn’t look like an execution shot, so he could have been hit by accident, by a hunter.” Sebastian looked around at the trees, “Might not find a body for a while, in the woods–but a shot between the eyes raises questions.”

“Beautiful…” Jim breathed–even a few of his people looked impressed. “You heard the man, gentlemen: poor Lawrence went for a long walk in an area with too many deer–arrange it.”

His people retrieved the bullet and took the body away.

Belize stood there for a moment, watching Sebastian and then looked at Jim. “I like him,” she nodded and walked inside.

“Be impressed, Tiger: Belize doesn’t like many people.”

“Doesn’t like many men?”

“Doesn’t like many people of any kind.” Jim stroked a hand down Sebastian’s arm. “Well, you did Lawrence a kindness, and I have to admit it was far more efficient, but it’s long past time for more food and I want the doctor to look over your arm.” Jim smiled his best most predatory smile and watched Sebastian look more than slightly wary.

“And then we need to talk about you making promises when I said ‘no guarantees’.”


	10. after the outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet some of the staff, and explanations

Jim took him back to his room–his old room–because he wanted the doctor to look at his arm. Before the doctor came in, though they had… _lunch, I suppose._

Jim actually hand fed him this time, not even with a fork. Sebastian had the feeling he should object, but _Jim looked so… delighted and… it was kind of nice…_

They had just finished the food when the doctor came in. He looked very startled that Sebastian wasn’t hooded.

“You can speak to him, doctor,” Jim said calmly. “Sebastian wanted to see who was treating him–I suppose talking goes along with it.”

The doctor very hesitantly asked him questions about his arm, and the motions that hurt. After Jim didn’t get upset–or react really, he was working on his phone–he seemed to relax.

“Damn it!” Jim snarled at the phone suddenly. “Tiger? Behave. I have to go deal with this. I’ll be right back.” And he stormed out.

Sebastian grumbled and sat back on the bed, “Well, I suppose this isn’t leaving me alone… exactly.”

The doctor looked around carefully, “Are… can I help you?”

“What? I thought you were?” Sebastian stared at his arm and back up at the doctor.

“I can’t–I can’t get you out. I’m sorry, but–”

“I can get out by myself if I need to,” Sebastian said thoughtfully. “But I’m not sure…”

“What?”

“I could probably get out now.” Sebastian sighed, “I probably should, really.”

“If you can get out… why are you here?” The doctor looked very confused. “You were restrained–I saw you.”

“I was. I’m not now.” Sebastian shrugged, “It’s really complicated.” He looked at the worried doctor and felt some sympathy. _If I don’t understand it, how can he_? “Look, if you want to help? Make sure I get the function back in my arms. That’s the best help anyone can be.”

The doctor nodded and slowly went back to talking about healing and therapy. He mentioned that shifting did seem to speed recovery, but it also meant a higher caloric need to support healing. He was in the middle of the lecture on metabolic load and healing when Jim walked back in looking aggravated.

“Do I employ children?” he grumbled and sat back down.

Sebastian looked at him–that sudden need to walk out was far too convenient–and said, “The doctor was saying that shifting might help speed up the healing process, but I should eat more.”

“I had heard that shifting would help. It makes sense you’ll need to eat more.” Jim tapped his lip thoughtfully, “We’ll get you some more to eat after he’s done.” He went back to staring at his phone.

The doctor left a few minutes later and Sebastian asked, “So is he in trouble?”

“For what?”

“Trying to find a way to help me out.”

“No. He did lead with saying he couldn’t get you out.” Jim smirked, “When did you figure it out?”

“I honestly didn’t think about it until you came back in.”

“All that and brains too.” Jim’s smirk got wider.

Sebastian looked around the room, “So where IS the bug? I don’t see it.”

Jim snickered, “Which one?”

“Ouch. That bad?”

“There are eight: three cameras with microphones, and five additional audio.”

Sebastian’s mouth dropped open. “What are you doing, filming it in 3D?!”

“Minimizing blackout areas.” Jim shrugged. “But now we need to talk, and not here.” He got up and stretched. “Back up to my rooms, Tiger.”

They walked a short distance and suddenly Sebastian swore, “You little shit,” because he saw a room that he’d gotten glimpses of–the shower was in there–and that was maybe twenty feet from his room.

Jim laughed, “You expected me to let you know the layout?”

“No.” Sebastian sighed, and realized he hadn’t moved his arm from Jim’s. “No, I guess not.”

It was a distance to his suite, and there was an electronic lock on the door, so that much was true.

“You must have been walking me around the building naked quite a bit–did they enjoy the show?” Sebastian wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but none of the people had laughed at him, or looked at him with anything other than surprise when they brought in the cougar–Lawrence.

“Sit down there, Tiger.” Jim pointed to the sofa.

Sebastian did, and Jim moved up and stood almost on top of him. _Dominance display,_ he supposed–Jim’s legs pinning him in.

“First of all, when I walked you through the hallways, the only people around were usually my best orderlies or nurses, so… not too many people.”

Jim stood there very quietly for a bit: it was a bit unnerving but Sebastian kept his eyes on him, watching his eyes and expression. Jim had a very controlled expression, much like his changes in pitch and sudden screaming–Sebastian suspected it was mostly put on. He took his eyes off of Jim long enough to look around the room again– _no, that was genuine_ –and looked back at him.

“Do you ever let anyone see the real expression on your face? Or is it as much an act as your voice?” Sebastian hadn’t quite meant to say it out loud.

Jim didn’t react much but slowly an amused look crept across his face. “It’s usually an act, Tiger, but I think you’ve seen more of me than most.”

“You aren’t killing me–you’d do that in front of them… your people.”

“True, I would. Do you know why?”

“Terror? Letting them know you can change fast, that any mistakes can be lethal?”

“Mmm… some of that. That would depend on who I was killing you in front of. For the best of my people, the message would be simple: don’t usurp my authority, ever.”

Sebastian frowned, “Usurp your–I hadn’t known I had?”

“In a way.” Jim looked down at him thoughtfully, “You made a promise to the kitty.”

“I… offered to kill–”

“No. You said you WOULD kill him quickly if he cooperated.” Jim sighed and backed up. “Food first, I think.”

“I’m… a bit confused.”

Jim walked away and got out his phone. “Yeah, now.” He hung up and walked to the door. After just a minute a man came in, covered in tattoos and looking about as violently dangerous as anyone Sebastian had ever seen.

He wheeled in a tray with covered dishes. “I stayed with it the whole time,” he nodded at Jim and started putting plates and covered trays onto a table.

“Good. We may need to… prune the staff a bit, so keep your eyes open.”

“Yes, sir.” His eyes flicked to Sebastian.

“He’s staying,” Jim nodded.

The man looked at Sebastian for a bit and nodded slowly. He looked back at Jim, “He’s been good for you–maybe you should take up lion taming or some shit.”

Jim laughed, “Don’t push your luck, Eman.”

The man ducked his head and wheeled out the cart.

Sebastian finally managed to say something, “Who the FUCK is that?”

“My personal chef–here, anyway.”

Sebastian was still reacting to that when the smell of the food hit his nose. “Oh… um… He cooked that? Because it smells really good.”

Jim had him come over and sit near the table. He hand fed him again–well, with a fork anyway. Sebastian didn’t know if he minded, or thought it was comforting, or… maybe both. The food was good though.

After the necessary breaks for the bathroom and clean up, Jim put him back on the sofa.

“I keep forgetting how… that you haven’t had a chance in hell of recovering from being captured yet.” Jim said thoughtfully, “I expect too much out of you, and I expect you to understand… and… it’s not fair.” He snickered suddenly, “And that’s how life is.” He looked solemnly down at Sebastian again, “But you are such a magnificent creature, it’s easy to forget, and assume you understand.”

“You keep flattering me like that, you’ll turn my head.”

Jim very softly said, “I told you–you are mine.” He never raised his voice but the emphasis was undeniable. “I need a bodyguard, and a sniper, and I shouldn’t trust you as a bodyguard–I really shouldn’t–but there you were, fighting for me.”

“I could snap your neck right now, you know?” Sebastian said softly, as he kept his hands in sight. “The utensils were in range, there are weapons all over this room. You slept in the room with me last night.”

“Which I never do, Tiger.” That flashing shark smile. “I should kill you for safety’s sake–you have a bad influence on me.”

Sebastian put everything into his next words, “I will never hurt you, Jim.” He saw the startlement in his eyes and continued, “I don’t know if I will stay–I don’t–but I won’t hurt you.”

“How very odd.”

“But you’re right: I don’t understand what I did. If it’s about the cat, couldn’t you just have… done what you wanted anyway?”

Jim sighed, “No, Tiger. You see, I’m setting you up as my personal guard, one of my few trusted people. You were standing at my right hand, and I told you that you could speak to him–which means I put my word behind yours. You were speaking on my behalf, Tiger.”

Sebastian blinked a lot. “I… hadn’t–”

“Understood? No, obviously not.” Jim ran his hand over Sebastian’s scalp and started rubbing at the back of his head–Sebastian lost his lock on Jim’s eyes as his head lowered. “I could either immediately have stopped you–said ‘he doesn’t speak for me’–or… I had to back you up… and I didn’t want to cause trouble for your authority in front of the rest of the staff.”

“Oh.” Sebastian spoke very softly, “I’m… I’m sorry, sir, I had no idea.” He forced himself to look up, his military training screaming unhappily about being seated for this. “So what’s my punishment?”

Jim sighed, “I don’t want to hurt you–or rather, I don’t want to DAMAGE you–and you are still too weak to handle most of what I would do, normally.”

“Sir.” He reluctantly concluded the man was right: his arm wasn’t up to pushups, and the rest of him wasn’t up to extreme exertion. “Given how badly I fell over after trying to fly? I can’t argue.”

Jim finally seemed to come to a conclusion. “You DID discuss it with me first, even if you misunderstood.” Jim nodded slowly. “I should, by rights…” He briefly looked angry and then shook his head. “Just… don’t write a check with your mouth that MY ass has to cash, okay?” Jim muttered, “I’ve gone soft.”

Sebastian was frankly shocked–he’d expected a lot, given what he’d apparently done. He bowed his head, “Yes, sir. If… if you think hooding me is… needed.”

“I may… but only when we are in my rooms.” He nodded slowly. He walked over and got his glove, and something else. “Shift.”

Sebastian shifted.

Jim put him on the back of a harder chair and held up a hood–a falconer’s hood, sized for him. Sebastian slowly lowered his head and was hooded: it was odd as a bird, but somehow very soothing.

“I’m right here, Sebastian. You’re safe, and the hood is light leather and all natural with somewhat weak stitches–it would split apart if you need to shift,” Jim said, and Sebastian was amazed that he knew exactly what Sebastian needed to hear.

Sebastian dozed off to the sound of Jim, sitting next to him, typing on a computer.


	11. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for any errors, my proof reader has been too ill  
> CW: discussions of the bad stuff governments do.

_I should kill him._

_He fought for me–he didn’t have to and he FOUGHT for me._

_I really should kill him–being this attached is very dangerous._

_Shit…I have gotten attached._

Jim was inordinately glad that Sebastian had a hood on because in all honesty his typing had long ago ceased to be anything but a vague stream of consciousness ramble.

He looked back over what he’d written and deleted it.  There was no question at all that he’d developed… feelings.  Jim didn’t know what to do about that.  I mean, he rather liked several of his trusted staff… but it had taken quite some time and several missions before he…sort of…liked them.

Then again he’d never practically lived with them, hand fed them, and been their only source of contact.

_I was supposed to have conditioned HIM, not ME._

He sighed and got up. “I’m heading to bed… I think I should get your hood off.”

Sebastian shook his head and feathers out and lowered his head; Jim took off the hood.

“Eagle form on the chair, or?”

Sebastian looked down at the floor questioningly.  Jim got the glove and helped him down; a moment later Sebastian was standing there in human form.

“Would…”

“Would?”

Sebastian looked anxious. He covered it well, but he did. “Can I stay with you?”

Jim raised an eyebrow, “I assume you mean in my room.”

“…Yes…?”

Jim sighed and looked him up and down. “You… are you asking about sex? Or sleeping?”

Sebastian winced and tried to pretend he wasn’t turning colors, “Sleeping.” Sebastian more or less fidgeted in place, picking up one foot and then the other in a very bird like gesture.

Jim sighed and walked toward the bedroom, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I said yes, yes you can.”

Sebastian came in quickly and ducked his head. “I wasn’t sure…”

“I do not sleep with people. I have sex with people, but I do not sleep with people.  If you toss and turn or move around I may hurt you.” Jim looked at him seriously, “There’s a reason I warned you last time.”

Sebastian blinked at him several times and glanced at the chair perch. “Right, talk and don’t startle you if I have to leave the room or come back.”

Jim got into bed as he had when Sebastian was an eagle and Sebastian got into the other side… rather hesitantly: sleeping with combat buddies in the back of a truck was a different thing.

Jim kept grumbling and turning and Sebastian was just about to get out of bed and try the sofa when Jim sighed, “Change sides.”

“Yes, sir? Uh… why?”

“Your injured arm needs to be away from me in case I swat you or roll on you or something.”

Sebastian didn’t think it was likely that Jim could actually hurt him accidentally, but decided that saying that might not be wise.  He lay still and tried not to touch…

Jim sighed again after a while. “Can you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“You are lying there like I’m going to electrocute you, and I don’t have my Taser in bed –not after last time–so RELAX damn it.”

Sebastian tried and then, “Taser? Not after last time?!”

Jim muttered darkly, “Tiger…do you need to be hooded?”

“…No sir.”

“Go. The. Fuck. To . sleep.”

Sebastian tried.  He kept waking up uncertain of where he was, and finally he woke up panicking that the terrorists were coming in to break his wings… but there was someone with an arm over him and he didn’t hurt…

Jim.  Jim had rolled over in his sleep and had an arm thrown over him…

Also he was apparently mouthing his arm, which may be what had triggered the nightmare.

Sebastian lay very still and… yes, Jim was curled over him, and sort of mouthing his arm like it was a pacifier or something.  _This is the damndest thing that’s happened to me yet_ , Sebastian thought, but he was safe, and the bed was quite comfortable…

…

Jim woke up with very handsome chest under his cheek.  He mostly stared at the muscle and dusting of hair and really quite nice set of nipples while he tried to remember who this was and why…? _Sebastian, eagle, Tiger, sleeping… and I’m curled up under his good arm with my leg thrown over his thigh, lovely._

As memory filled in he had a very vague recollection of Sebastian… having a nightmare?  _Right, why wouldn’t he have a nightmare, I have them…_ _Although it didn’t seem to send ME into a panic…_ Jim resolved to think about it later and started carefully extricating himself.

“Good morning?” Sebastian’s voice was sleep rough and a bit puzzled.

“It’s morning but it’s not good until I’ve had coffee.” Jim said firmly.

Sebastian blinked a few times, “Can’t argue that.”

“Breakfast, shower… then we need to work on your therapy and changing some more…”

The prospect of more time in Eagle form spurred Sebastian to move with some speed, and it wasn’t long before they were back in the padded garage.

_Sebastian really could transition very quickly._

Jim put him up on the perch and supervised his wing exercises–which were improved dramatically even after a short amount of time.

“I have a treat for you…” Jim told him to wait and stepped out.  He came back in with a whole dead rabbit… which Sebastian-The-Eagle looked at quite avidly.  It was really very interesting to see a Golden Eagle eat…

Once Sebastian was done, Jim had him shift back. “Now I want to see some arm stretches and PT work, and you’ll eat some more… and then shift again.  As long as we keep your protein high enough you should be able to go through more shifts, and that will speed healing.”

“Yes, sir.” Sebastian felt like he’d flown laps, not just flapped a bit and stretched, but he set about doing his PT in human form as well.

…

Sebastian sat on the padded floor feeling quite exhausted, “Yes, sir.” He nodded: the doctor was correct; if he could shift without using up all of his own reserves… it would help.  “Maybe more protein shakes?  They gave us that in military training.”

Jim smiled, “I have a bunch already in here.  I just thought the eagle form would prefer a rabbit.”

“I did… thank you…” Sebastian looked over again.  “I appreciate what you’re doing, even if … even if it’s for your own reasons.”

“Everyone does EVERYTHING for their own reasons.” Jim shrugged. “What the reasons are may differ.”

Jim got him a trio of protein shakes and Sebastian sat, gloriously nude, and drank them–Jim sat down just at arm’s length and drank one of his own.

“I have a question…but…”

“Ask.” Jim opened a hand in a permissive gesture. “The cameras and microphones here only go to me.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “I was more worried I wouldn’t like the answer.”

Jim chuckled, “Can’t help you there.”

“You… have a laboratory that experiments on– on people like me…”

Jim just raised an eyebrow.

“Why was I HERE and not there?”

Jim inhaled sharply, “You were never…” he considered how to explain, “I know my ethics are a bit odd for people, but you were never going there like that–not alive anyway, your body might have.”

Sebastian felt some tension uncoil slightly at that. “Can you… explain? It’s been a concern.”

 “I’ll try… I’m sorry I didn’t think… of course you would wonder.”

Jim sat back on his hands letting his head hang back, looking up at the ceiling. “Shapechangers are declining: every year there are fewer, partly because of prejudice against them.  They used to be gods, heroes, held up as emblems of the tribe…now you’re more likely to hear stories about mad creatures that slaughter your relatives.”

“A lot of shapechangers don’t have that much control.”

“Why not?  They used to.” Jim said it idly, “and why so many more shapeshifters who are latent, or only perhaps changing once in their lives and never again? Why does it seem that certain animal forms run in families and not others? So many unanswered questions…”

Sebastian thought about it. “That… Ok I hadn’t really thought about it, I suppose.  My mother was a one-time shift–once and never again–my father never shifted… there were records in the family of eagles and hawks, so when I came up it wasn’t a complete shock, but…” he looked over at Jim, sitting there as though he was star gazing, “the military was one of the few places that would let me change–wanted me to.”

“One of the few places to give you training and practice,” Jim replied, still looking off at the sky somewhere beyond the ceiling, “and one of the few groups that has medical for shifters, and one of the few groups to fund research into drugs… I should know.”

“The… military funds your labs?”

He looked over and flashed a none too friendly smile, “Everyone’s military funds my labs.  They do it quietly, and often through other funding sources, but from my very first researches… when my ‘laboratory’ was some bribes and a questionnaire and I was pouring through folklore? I got money from governments.”

“So… why would he go to these labs and I wouldn’t?”

“We PAY people to be research subjects, of course–but that isn’t what you mean.” Jim shrugged and got up.  “Involuntary testing subjects are a treasure, and I COULD have as many as I like just grabbing them or buying them, but I don’t.” He waved a hand at Sebastian to stay put and walked over to the fridge.

“Apple?” he asked as he pulled one out.

“Sure.”

He came back and handed one over and bit thoughtfully into the other one. “Lots of places will kidnap or imprison a shifter on any pretense, either for research or just to lock them up.”

“I know, or rather I’ve heard.”

“England included.”

“We don’t do that!”  Sebastian protested.

Jim bit down on his apple, “You don’t do that to people who MATTER, but I assure you  England does do that–ask about all the people whose bodies were never found in Kenya or Ireland, or any shifter with the misfortune to be jailed…”

Sebastian stared at him, “Do you know that? Or do you presume that?”

“My father died in their labs–a one-time shifter who was too close to trouble.” Jim shrugged, “so did two uncles, and a great-grandfather–well we think great-grandfather did, he was dragged off by the English and never seen again anyway.  Children of unwed mothers, or pregnant prisoners –and they arrested a lot of those if they thought you were related to a shifter– were stolen and placed where they could be watched…” Jim looked at the horrified expression on Sebastian’s face, “So yes I KNOW.”

Sebastian could only try to speak and fail… he reached out a hand and touched Jim, “That’s horrible… I mean I understand  arresting people for crimes, but…”

“I got into the records, eventually, at least some of them.” Jim patted Sebastian’s hand gently, “at least most shifters taken for studies never lived long–they don’t have the facilities to keep many at once–but that also limits the studies they can do.”  Jim looked off again, “My labs develop drugs that not only inhibit shifting, but force it:  we study healing and genetics as well.  I have drugs that can bring someone back from being feral, or force them feral… but as you might expect the testing process is risky at first–and often painful.”

Jim bit into his apple again, “I don’t test the first run, or the risky ones, on anyone but volunteers…and people like the cat.”  Jim looked at Sebastian seriously, “You ARE a test subject, right now… your healing is being monitored, I’m logging everything, but that’s no different than studying hospital records.”

“Are you testing drugs on me?”

“Can’t:  you were drugged too heavily by your captors.” Jim shrugged, “We’re testing how well you come off of them and flushing your system, but trying to test any of my drugs?  The results would be contaminated.” He looked over at him, “The results of your rehab may help others immensely, you know.”

Sebastian could see that. “So… why him… as a lab subject.”

“As I said, he was supposed to be trusted, loyal… and instead he was a spy.  I can forgive someone who sneaks in to spy or steal, but…” Jim shook his head, “betrayal?  I tend to take that badly.  Even if I didn’t take it badly, he clearly couldn’t be trusted.”  Jim looked over at Sebastian, “That and they were planning on kidnapping you–even if it could have killed you.”

Sebastian blinked, “I… guess I thought they thought they were rescuing me?”

“You don’t rescue someone by drawing a gun on them, or not talking to them, or trying to force them out by threat.” Jim raised an eyebrow, “you heard them before I came in, were they trying to TALK to you?”

“…No.” 

“You were going to be taken back to Sir Edwin, who runs MI6.  I have no idea whether he would have put you back to work or interrogated you… but that assumes you lived and they didn’t just kill you.”  Jim waved out toward the door, “I remind you the priority was getting you away from me and having THEM report back–getting you back alive would be great, but…”

Sebastian sighed and finished his drinks, “but as long as the cougar got back to report it’s all good.”

“As to me… You were never going to the labs, except as a body… or a volunteer–in which case you only test the things that are generally safe, or…” Jim looked at him, “If your wing wasn’t healing as well as it is, would you honestly turn down an experimental treatment to try to fix it? Even if it would hurt? even if it was dangerous?”

Sebastian thought about never flying again and shuddered, “No…I’d be first in line.”

 


End file.
